The Riddle of Grief (Alternate ending for the Merlin finale)
by Hunith's Spirit
Summary: Alternate ending for the Merlin finale, 5x13 (The Diamond of the Day Pt 2). Focus on Merlin's POV and his emotions in the aftermath of things; trying to tie up ends the show left hanging loose and to provide a more satisfactory, unrushed conclusion than what the writers gave us. Spoilers for 5x13, naturally. Fair amount of angst and hurt/comfort. Can Merlin save his friend?
1. Chapter 1 - A World He Once Knew

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the TV series "Merlin", which is trademarked by the BBC. All characters are created and owned by the BBC and the writers of "Merlin" and I do not claim any ownership over them. The story I tell here is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of the "Merlin" story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is, unfortunately in this case, not part of the official story line. Although I am bitterly disappointed and heartbroken by the way this outstanding series was ended, I want to thank the BBC and the "Merlin" authors for creating the characters with whom I have laughed and cried for 5 wonderful and touching seasons. Without them, my story wouldn't exist.

**The Riddle of Grief**

Chapter 1 - A World He Once Knew

_O Merlin in your crystal cave_  
_ Deep in the diamond of the day,_  
_ Will there ever be a singer_  
_ Whose music will smooth away_  
_ The furrow drawn by Adam's finger_  
_ Across the memory and the wave?_  
_ Or a runner who'll outrun_  
_ Man's long shadow driving on,_  
_ Break through the gate of memory_  
_ And hang the apple on the tree?_  
_ Will your magic ever show_  
_ The sleeping bride shut in her bower,_  
_ The day wreathed in its mound of snow_  
_ and Time locked in his tower? _

_Edwin Muir_

The young man was kneeling by the side of the water, doubled over, riddled by sobs. The boat carrying his now silent master, the King, his friend – oh! so much more than just a friend! - out onto the lake had long since vanished in the mists, but still Merlin could feel Arthur's weight in his lap, the warmth of Arthur's laboured breathing on his chest, the pityingly weak touch of Arthur's once so firm hand on the back of his head. Still he could hear the king's deep voice, shaking and raw from the sheer endeavor of holding on, from the fear of not getting the chance to say what he needed Merlin to know, that he couldn't have achieved what he had without Merlin, that he thanked him.

Thanked him! Merlin almost cried out when a new wave of grief shook his slender frame. So many times he had saved the great Pendragon's back, and Camelot, and the day, and never had he heard the tiniest thank you. "You're such a girl, Merlin! Don't be such a coward, Merlin! You idiot, Merlin!" Such were the words the Prince had used to acknowledge his presence - and how he longed to hear them now, to be bullied around by Arthur, to have something thrown at him, a boot, a pitcher, anything, thrown in mock rage that in reality expressed how deeply Arthur had cared about his clumsy, useless servant._ Clumsy indeed!_ Merlin sobbed anew._ So clumsy that I couldn't for dear life prevent a traitor settling in our midst. So useless that for all my wonderful magic I couldn't save you in the end!_ So damn idiotic that he never thought of calling his oh-so-mighty dragon the moment he heard Gaius say that he had to take Arthur to Avalon, instead of when it was already too late._ Why did you have to leave me, Arthur? Everything is over now! Nothing will mean anything to me anymore now._ "Nothing! Nothing, do you hear me?" With a start, Merlin realized that he had shouted the last words. He hadn't even noticed that he had stood up and stepped back into the lake again, as if to make Arthur hear him better. But Arthur's ears were closed to all earthly sounds now.

His normally so bright blue eyes dark with tears he gazed over to the tor for one last time and, lips quivering, whispered "Goodbye…" Then he slowly turned around and with heavy, squelching steps made back for the lake's edge. The sun had been steadily sinking and the first noises of the falling night could be heard from the direction of the forest, accompanied by a chilly breeze, but the young warlock didn't think of magically drying his dripping boots and trousers, didn't even notice that they were wet. He never had felt so drained, so hollow, in his entire life. Not when he had lost his childhood best friend Will, not when he had had to say goodbye to Freya, not when he had buried Lancelot – in a boat just like the one where he had laid Arthur to rest. So many times already did he have to watch loved ones cross over into the other world for one so young, and he suddenly felt a thousand years old, a lost wanderer in a world he thought he knew, a world to which he had once owned a map, a map that he still gazed at with uncomprehending eyes because all he could see was the Arthur-shaped hole that burned, crimson, in its middle.

He stopped on the small strip of grass that surrounded the lake and for the first time wondered where he should go now. Everything that had made up his life in Camelot seemed unreal to him, blurred, like something left behind decades ago. Had he really scuttled up and down the castle's neverending stairways to care for the man now dead on the Isle of Avalon? Polishing the armor that in the end couldn't protect him, sharpening the sword that had killed Mordred, all right, but only when it was already too late? At this Merlin started crying again, or maybe he had never stopped crying, and the the thought of the castle brought back other duties he had had, errands he had had to run for Gaius – Gaius! How could he ever face him again? How could he tell him – how could he tell Gwen –Gwen! – and Gwaine and Sir Leon and Percival, how he had failed Arthur, had failed all of them? But tell them he must, he saw that clearly all of a sudden. He couldn't just go and hide, just start running, running and never stopping again until all that had happened today was far behind him, as much as he wanted to. What he wanted was finding a place where he could be all alone, where he could just sit and stare and think of his lost friend, think of what was supposed to be his destiny, think of everything he now never would achieve and, most important of all, think about what Kilgarrah had said to him by the lake.

Yes, for all his grief and terrible guilt Merlin hadn't forgotten what the dragon had told him, about Arthur being the Once and Future King who would rise again when Albion's need would be greatest. The words were engraved in his brain and a tiny, twinkling light buried almost completely beneath his utter hopelessness, almost unaccessable under his conscious thoughts. He didn't as yet dare to look at it. He couldn't face the notion of a new beginning, of another chance at fulfilling his destiny yet. His grief was too full, too sharp. But the light was there. He knew it was there, and in time he would be able to step out of the darkness to examine it. But for now, he had to begin his dark and lonely journey to Camelot. With a last look over his shoulder, towards the dark lake, Merlin drew a deep breath and swallowed hard. Bracing himself against the sensation of his magic, his birthright he now could never wholly trust anymore, he sent out small strands of magic to show him the right direction, and with hot tears still steadily dripping down his haggard face, he set out for Camelot, and admission of his failure.


	2. Chapter 2 - Coming Home

Chapter 2 – Coming Home

When the new dawn started to rise over Camelot, tinting the edges of the sky and the few clouds that adorned it in the faintest silvery-pink glow, it bathed the massive towers of the castle into an eerie light. On the balustrade over the main gate, a middle-aged, mild-faced knight with shoulder-length, slightly curly hair and a soft beard pulled his red woolen cloak closer around himself. He was gazing at the fields and woods beyond the castle walls, his eyes constantly searching the broad path leading up to the town.

Everything seemed quiet, just like it was on a normal day at sunrise, before the peasant's carts began to rumple up to the market below the citadel to sell their crop, but today the silence seemed uncanny. It wasn't a normal day. It was day two after the battle against Morgana's Saxon allies, and although Sir Leon told himself that there was still hope, that no news of the King meant good news, and that was what he had been also telling Queen Guinevere over and over again during the last night, but in his heart the knight was almost sure that this time King Arthur wouldn't return. He couldn't think why felt thus; it was as if he had known all along that the King would meet his doom in Camlann. But still, that didn't mean he would just give up on him. Or on his servant-cum-sorcerer, who's secret had been lifted the evening before by the Queen at a secret round table meeting of the remaining most trusted knights. He had been shocked – for about five heartbeats. Then all those incidents fell right into place, all those times Arthur had made it against all odds, the times Camelot had been in mortal danger and yet had never fallen, and all those big twigs that so often had mysteriously lodged themselves in the faces, chests or legs of their opponents. He should have known all along it was Merlin. Or…Emrys. A strange name for a strange man that once had been so familiar…as familiar as that mop of raven hair that shimmered through the maple trees that marked the beginning of the forest. Could it be…? But no. Where was Arthur? Where the horses? Was Arthur waiting with them? And _was_ it…? It was a man, a tired-looking, tall, thin man whose brown breeches could be seen moving as he slowly, walked up the hill. A blue tunic, a speck of red at his neck, and that raven helmet of hair…. "MERLIN!" Sir Leon shouted, not heeding that Merlin, for he it was, could impossibly hear him over that distance. He waved with both arms, red cloak flying, "MERLIN! MERLIN! "

The gaunt figure stopped, hand seemingly shadowing his eyes, and gave a half-hearted, defeated little wave with one arm. It was him. Merlin. Alone. Leon's heart skipped a beat, and then he was flying down the stairs, calling a guard and ordering to get the Queen and the court physician down to the main courtyard, "but no-one else, mind!", grabbing a random horse from an astonished stable boy and gallopping off to greet the young servant. Sorcerer. Or whatever. His young friend.

Merlin could sense the knight coming long before he heard the horse, and came to a halt, leaning tiredly against the stem of a large maple tree, bracing himself for the first confrontation with a human being after leaving Arthur. This wasn't how he would have wished. He'd wanted to arrive here under cover of the night, quietly sneaking into Gaius' quarters, and to only speak to him and Gwen, tell them what had happened, sharing the unbearable burden of Arthur's loss with them, and then sinking into a dreamless sleep.

"MERLIN!" Sir Leon reigned in his horse, jumped down and sprinted up to the warlock, grabbing him by his shoulders. "Merlin! Are you alright? Where's Arthur? What…" The knight drew him into a tight hug. "I thought I'd never see you again!" Merlin allowed himself to be held thus for a moment, then he pulled himself up and looked straight into Sir Leon's face. "Arthur…" His voice, the voice that he had last used to scream for his dying friend, creaked like a rusty door hinge, but he had to say it. "Arthur died on the shores of Avalon. I couldn't save him", he said simply. "He's gone." – "Nooo!" shouted Sir Leon. "He's…" - "Yes. I tried everything. It was too late. The dragon breath blade had done its damage. I buried him on the lake. I sent him out on the lake in a boat. He's resting in Avalon!" And the sobs came back up again, from the place deep down in his heart where he had tried to store him.

Sir Leon looked at him, a tear slowly running down his own face, then took off his cloak and threw it around the young man's shaking shoulders. "Come on, Merlin, we need to get you up to the castle. You need to rest. Folks will likely be staring at you from here to the citadel, so pull on the hood. Merlin, shhhh….it's alright. We'll talk later. Right now I'll take you to Gaius. Come, my boy." Gently the he led the weeping younger man to his horse, helped him mount, wincing at how featherlike his insubstantial weight felt, and swung himself up beside him. He wrapped his arms around the youth so he would not fall of from sheer exhaustion, then got the horse going in a steady pace, and for once Merlin allowed himself to be weak, to lean into the Sir Leon's chest, to close his eyes and just let himself be lulled by the knight's unfading stream of whispered soothing words. He couldn't believe how good it felt just to hear the familiar clod-clod of the horse's feet on Camelot's pavement. Still his home.

If Camelot's people were curious and worried about their King's obviously ill manservant being personally escorted to the castle by a knight, and on his horse, and without the missing King, they only showed it by their looks of concern as they lined the streets to both sides of them, and as Merlin had his eyes still closed, he couldn't see that. The Arthur-shaped hole in his world gaped as widely as before, and even though Merlin suspected that this was just the way it would be in the future, still he was where he belonged. For the moment.

_To be continued_


	3. Chapter 3 - I Couldn't Save Him

_Author's note: Thanks so much to the people who wrote my very first reviews! It's intoxicating to get such immediate feedback, that's amazing! Yay! I'm glad you like the beginning of my story. More is sure to come, and as I tend to write in detail, be prepared for a longer fic. Also, I wasn't sure if this would was going to have a happy end, as my main concern with the Merlin finale is that it was much, much too rushed and missed many opportunities to let all the players shine for one last time, but it seems you would love a happy ending very much, right? Well…maybe… if you keep on reviewing! __ - Greetings from snowy Germany, Hunith's Spirit P.S.: As stated in the description, I'm not a native English speaker, although I've studied Anglistics. If you detect any real mistake, I'd be very grateful for pointing it out to me. I live to learn. ;)_

Chapter 3

Merlin had opened his eyes again when he felt a shift in the air that told him that the familiar walls of the main castle courtyard were towering once more above him. He raised his head, to see them already waiting at the bottom of the steps that led to the entrance hall: the woman queenly, holding herself upright with steely determination, long brown hair arranged in perfect waves under the crown that seemed to be a great weight on her brow, her olive skin shimmering strangely pale and bloodless against the bright yellow of her gown; the old man beside her outwardly no less calm, but with his long white hair in even more disarray than usual, hands folded behind the back of his wrinkled, blood-stained tunic –to prevent them from shaking, Merlin realized with a pang – and his sea-green eyes, full of sorrow, and concern, and naked fear, fear for himself, he knew, his ward, his almost son.

When the horse with the two riders came to a halt a few yards from the steps, the old man walked towards it as briskly as his old bones and his exhaustion would let him and reached for the reigns, while the Queen of Camelot kept standing where she was, motionless, expressionless, unblinkingly facing the early morning sun. Merlin returning alone could only mean one thing, both Gwen and Gaius had to be aware of that; why then did the task before him feel so impossibly, so unbearably hard? _Why must I be the one to tell them? Isn't it enough that I've lost you?_

"Merlin!" Gaius cried out hoarsely, watching the boy, aided by Sir Leon's strong arms, slowly glide down from the horse as if that was the most difficult physical feat in the world. "Merlin, are you hurt? Where is Arthur?" The young warlock took a step towards the physician, swaying slightly. Gaius quickly went to his side and took his arm to steady him. The black head turned towards him and the eyes, young and old, locked. "Gaius, he's –" Merlin croaked in that broken voice that seemed to have replaced the one he had before Arthur left him. Gaius raised his right eyebrow as he stated what was obvious. "He's dead. You left him at Avalon?" Merlin nodded, breathing hard, tears pooling again in his eyes. "I couldn't save him, Gaius. I couldn't save him!" "And Morgana? Kilgharrah…?" the physician asked gently. "Morgana is dead. Kilgharrah…I don't know… I called him too late. I think he…He was dying. I don't think we'll ever see him again." Gaius wrapped one arm around the young man's shoulders and began to lead him firmly towards the stairs. "You did what was in your power, my boy. If you couldn't save Arthur, then no one could have."

Before they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Queen Guinevere barred the way. "Wait", she commanded, her voice harsh, facing the former servant with a hard stare. "The King is dead?" Merlin felt the weight of her despair, and although he didn't care at all for the cold gleam in Guinevere's eyes, he knew what prompted her to treat him thus, and was ready to receive her blame. He deserved it, after all. He had failed her too. Without looking up, he said, "It was too late to heal the wound dealt by Mordred's sword. When we reached Avalon, he was already gone. He…he died in my arms. I…I'm so sorry….Gw- my lady." His voice broke again as he tried to swallow the sobs that were ascending again from deep inside his body. "You couldn't save him?" the Queen shouted. "_You_ of all people have the nerve to say you couldn't save him? I thought you were supposed to be a mighty sorcerer, _Mer_lin! What good have you been, for all your…_magic!?_ "She spat out the last word. Merlin's head jerked up, and he winced when he saw the hatred in her face. _She knows? _ For a fleeting second he fought back the insane urge to blurt out his trademark retort to the accusation of having magic – _I was born with it! –_ and in spite of grief and fatigue a small bubble of mirth rose inside his chest. He was sure that Arthur would have found that very funny. Arthur had told him to leave when he finally, _finally_ had learned his secret, but there had been no hatred in his eyes, only hurt, and once he had come to terms with the fact that the man he thought he knew had been lying to him all these years, the hurt had been replaced by wonder, and gratitude, and above all, unrestrained affection. How Merlin wished he could escape the grim present, and his bleak, hopeless future before him, and live forever in that moment: Arthur and him side by side under the sunlit green canopy in that forest, joking about how Merlin had cheated by using magic to win their brawl in the market so long ago, when they had just met. Was it his fate from now on to be looked upon with hate and distrust by people he had loved? Would he lose Gwen also, and his other friends?

Sir Leon, who had been holding the horse, now gave the reigns to the stable boy who had come to fetch the animal, stepped up to the the Queen and bowed. "With respect, my lady, we should inform the people of Camelot that the King is dead, and prepare to take the next steps. And the boy", he added with a sad smile at Merlin, "has been through a terrible ordeal. He needs rest, and a bit of warm soup in his belly. "The knight stepped up to him, circled his upper arm with his large hand, and pressed it gently. "I'm glad the King had his best friend by his side when he met his fate, Merlin. And – it's good to have you back." he said softly. The young man's eyes widened with something that might have been called wonder, had it stayed there for longer. Gaius nodded at Leon gratefully, then inclined his head to the Queen in token of a bow. "My deepest and heartfelt condolences for your great loss, my lady", he announced formally. Then, his eyes fixed on Guinevere's stony face, he added in a warmer voice, "I have cared for Arthur since he was born, Gwen. He was like a son to me. I will miss him greatly. He was a good man, and that was mainly because he wasn't quick to condemn people. Once his natural compassion won over his princely education, and his pride, he was ready to open his heart and look unbiased at anyone, no matter his or her being different, in status or in ability. _You of all people_ would do well to remember that, with all due respect. And if you would have the courtesy to excuse me now, I must tend to my ward. He is ill. You can talk to him once he's rested. Come, Merlin. Let's get you home." And without waiting for her to respond, he tightened his grip around the warlock's narrow shoulders and started to walk him in the direction of the physisican's quarters.

Merlin felt that he would like nothing better than to meekly go with Gaius and let his guardian fuss over him, feed him with warm stew, and put him to bed, but there were two things he needed to say to Gwen. He gently freed himself of Gaius's arm, ignoring the physician's gasp when he swayed again, and slowly began to walk towards the Queen. His wobbly knees told him he couldn't fight his exhaustion much longer, and his lightheadedness from not having eaten for two days forced him to send small pulses of magic into his bloodstream, but he managed it. Standing directly in front of his old friend, he looked straight into her face for the first time since he had arrived, so beautiful, yet so, so cold, closed against him like a fan. His sea-coloured eyes searching for her brown, he stepped still closer. Warily, he lifted one hand and stretched it out toward her, like on might toward a wounded animal, and ever so lightly traced the single tear that was rolling down her cheek with his finger. She shivered at the touch, but didn't force his hand away. Instead she returned his gaze, so open, so honest, just like he always had been, and suddenly something in her face gave way and her body started to shake with her weeping. Merlin let his hand fall lightly to her shoulder, where he let it stay for a moment before without warning it slipped off limply, his legs gave way, and the world went from grey to pitch black.

TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Chapter 4 - The Most Stupid Sorcerer

Chapter 4 – The Most Stupid Sorcerer Ever to Walk the Earth

Merlin awoke to the soft fading light of coming dusk, the last reddish-golden rays of evening sunlight bathing his familiar, cozy little chamber at the back of the court physician's quarters in a warm glow. His eyes traced the well-known pattern of cracks in the roughly plastered ceiling, his mind still half lingering in the realm of deep, dreamless sleep, not yet consciously remembering everything that had happened since he had last lain here. Outside his window he could hear the muted noises of everyday life down in the city, the people of Camelot finishing the day's duties and preparing for night and rest: horses being led to their stables, doors being bolted, shutters closed, a peal of laughter, probably from the tavern, a mother fondly scolding her child for being late for supper. Instinctively, his magic reached out even farther and brought the quieter sounds to his ears, too: a small girl saying her evening prayers. The tender murmurings of young lovers hidden in the shadows of the city walls. The almost inaudible flutter of a moth's wings. And suddenly, jarring in his ears, the distinctive, hoarse caw of a raven, so loud after the soft soothing sounds of Camelot at eventide. With a start, he sat up, throwing off several thick blankets in the process, and glanced across the room, part of him expecting to see a raven perching on the window sill, but there was nothing there.

And it hit him again. There was nothing there, nothing for him anymore, no destiny, no purpose in life for him, no reason to carry on, no dearest friend to greet him with a sleepy smile and a teasing remark. No more Arthur.

The all-encompassing anguish that had enshrouded him earlier had receded into a dull, throbbing ache in his stomach and near his heart. It hurt no less than before, only differently, more real, as if sorrow and guilt were simply the fabrics of his life now, and his eyes remained dry. Maybe his body had no fluids left to make tears from – his mouth felt parched, too, his throat raw, and he found that he couldn't remember when he last had had something to drink. His glance fell on the bedside table, where someone – probably Gaius – had left a pitcher of water and a small goblet. As he bent over to reach for the jug, a sharp, blinding bolt of pain erupted in his forehead, briefly dominating all his senses in one white-hot stab of agony. _Merlinnn….Merlinn…._he heard his name whispered by a low voice, a voice he was sure he had heard before, reaching out to him through the mist of his grief, trying to grab him, to get hold of his very soul…._Merlinnnn!_ He doubled over on the narrow bed, eyes clenched shut, hands clutching his head, oblivious to everything but his pain. A long, tormented wail floated through the room, and it was only when he found himself drawing in air in deep gulps in the once more silent room, the pain gone, that he knew that it was he himself who had been crying out.

"Merlin!" he again heard a muffled voice say his name, this time from beyond the door, which flew open and admitted a distraught Gaius, brow furrowed, hair flying, the look of concern on his tired old face blossoming into fully-fledged alarm at the sight of his ward, who had been peacefully asleep mere moments before when he had last checked on him, now lying limply on his cot, curled up like a stillborn infant. Gathering the folds of his long tunic, the physician walked over to the cot, sat down at its side and carefully turned the young man's head towards him. "Are you alright, Merlin?" the old man asked anxiously. Merlin squinted back at him as if he had just been blinded by bright sunlight, and nodded, shadowing his eyes. "I'm….I'm fine, Gaius. It was just….I – I had a headache." He slowly propped himself up on one elbow and gingerly rubbed at his forehead with his other arm. Gaius gave him a scrutinising look – and the eyebrow, naturally, which always made Merlin want either to laugh or go stand in the corner with his head hung in shame – and gave a long but rather relieved sigh. "That must have been one hell of a headache, to judge from the colony of bats you just scared away from the eastern belfry with that wail of yours – I'll never be able to get near them again. No idea where I am to get the bat spleens for my swelling solution now," he remarked in a pitiful attempt to hide his concern behind his customary mild sarcasm. Now it was Merlin's turn to shoot him one of his _come on! _looks, and both men couldn't help chuckling at the rather lame joke, just like in the old times. Merlin sat up, swinging both legs over the bedside to sit beside Gaius. "I'm glad," he said, still in his still hoarse voice, but with a hint of his old mischievous grin in the fine creases around his eyes, "for the poor little bats and their tiny spleens! That potion isn't very effective anyway. I tried it on a swelling Ar- um, a training sword gave me." He turned his head to the left to face his longtime mentor, whose lips twitched slightly. "Small wonder. It doesn't heal swellings; it's supposed to let things swell up! Did I teach you anything at all?" the physician in an attempt to draw out their hopeless attempt at banter. "Not that you ever needed it," he added, sobering up, "you never did. From the day I first saw you, I knew your powers had no match, and neither had your goodness. From the beginning, I feared this goodness would be your ruin, and I believed we had to keep your magic secret at all cost. I only ever wanted to protect you, Merlin, but I fear that in making you hold on to your secret I made a grave, and, in the end, fatal mistake. "

He looked up, and at last their eyes met for real, and the young warlock was shocked to find written in his guardian's sorrowful expression all the feelings of failure, guilt, and shame that filled his own heavy heart. "Gaius…" he began, but the old man cut him short. "Don't even start to tell me that you're sorry, my boy. If anyone is not to blame for how this whole sorry business turned out, it is you. You did what was in your power," he said earnestly, gripping the younger man's shoulder.

Merlin shook his head, wincing because it still felt sore from the strange pang he had experienced earlier. "That's where you're wrong, Gaius!" he called out, rising from the bed and walking over to the wall, unable to sit any longer while feeling the ants of guilt crawling all over his body. Leaning against the wall, he faced Gaius again. "I didn't! I messed up, big time! _The greatest sorcerer ever to walk the earth_? The most stupid, more like! Defeating the Saxons with lightning from the sky? No problem at all. Got it. But getting my dying friend to Avalon to be healed post-haste? What do I do? Call my pet dragon to carry us there in no time at all? No! I make Arthur tramp all over Albion with me on horseback, showing off my scouting and killing skills and chatting with him about how wonderful my magic is! And I go and tell him I didn't do it for _credit_?! I was so proud of the fact he finally saw me as I was that I never spared a thought for Morgana, never anticipated her going after us. How did she know where we were anyway?"

"Merlin, you couldn't –" Gaius cut in, but Merlin wouldn't be stopped now.

"NO! I should have known! There were so many options open to me, once I came into my own at the cave. Yes!" he nodded hard in response to his mentor's questioning glance, "I am in full command of my powers now, only I wasn't, not when it really mattered, because I was too busy making Arthur see how much I had done for him! And why ever did YOU not think of calling Kilgharrah? You're supposed to be my blasted _mentor_!" he shrieked. Then he closed his eyes and looked down to the floor. "I'm sorry, Gaius. I didn't...it's just that –" he began, but Gaius had risen and walked over to where he stood and enveloped the young man in a tight embrace, patting him on the back. "I know, Merlin. I know," he said over the boy's shoulder. "You're right. I bear no small part of the blame. We will talk about everything, I promise. You'll get the chance to abuse me to your heart's content, and yourself too, if it makes you feel better. There's an appointment with the Queen in the morning, too, I should inform you, and more sad tales to tell. But in the meantime, you should know that I will always love you. Nothing what happened in the last couple of days could ever change that." Merlin clutched his friend's back and shoulders tightly, then let go of him and sheepishly dubbed at his eyes with his red neckerchief. Gaius smiled, and then said in a business-like tone, "I suggest you put on a clean set of clothes and the join me at the table. I made some stew, and there's freshly baked bread." Merlin nodded, watching Gaius descend the few steps that led down to the main room, then took off his scarf and tunic and began to rummage through his cupboard, and although he couldn't think why that mattered to him, he was strangely relieved that Gaius hadn't thought to ask him what had woken him up after all, and why he seemed to be in pain.

TO BE CONTINUED


	5. Chapter 5 - A Quiet Hope

_Author's Note: Thanks so much for your reviews and followings! They keep me going! Given the fact that the story had so many viewings it's a bit sobering that only so few seem to like it enough to review, or favourite or follow it, but that makes your reactions all the more valuable to me. I would like to respond to the guest reviewer who thought Gwen's reaction out of place: You're right, she's always been a sweet and loving girl, but girls grow up eventually. ;) I'm a grown-up girl too, and had my fair share of experiences in life, and all I can say is that if it had been my longtime friend who came back to me without my beloved husband whom he was supposed to protect – a friend, mind, who I had only just learned had been lying to me for years over something hugely important – and told me that sorry, but my husband was dead and by the way, he already took care of the funeral – well, I would be furious, hurt, jealous that he was there when he died (and I wasn't) and generally unfair to him. At least initially ;) And one word about "happy" – be patient! A convincing happy end can't be rushed into – series 5 of Merlin is ample prove of that. There's much, much more to come, and this chapter will give you a glimpse of what that could be. So please, folks, keep reviewing! Greetings to you all! 3_

Chapter 5 – A Quiet Hope

The old physician and the young warlock spent their simple meal in companionable silence, with nothing more spoken than a few quiet trivialities. It was almost as if nothing had changed; the cluttered room was in its habitual state of organized chaos: books lying around everywhere, herbs laid out for drying on every available surface, a complicated setup for a scientific experiment in place on Gaius's scarred wooden worktable, bulbous glasses still filled with the congealed remnants of strange colourful fluid, forgotten when the tragic events of the past days had evolved. In a way, this display of normalcy was comforting, but as Merlin slowly spooned up his stew, he was only too aware that it was nothing more than that, a display, a show, empty props that remained behind while the leading actor had left the scene. Nothing had changed; but in truth, everything had changed. There couldn't be true comfort for him, not anywhere, not in anything, as long as his other half was resting in a place where he could not follow him.

Or…could he?

At that thought he suddenly felt a strange sensation in his stomach. He couldn't place it; it was similar to what his magic felt like, in the moment before it concentrated in his eyes, but only just. It was a silent bubble of air rising through water; it was a faint beam of moonlight illuminating the dark sky; it was the first discernible movement of an unborn baby in its mother's womb. The tiny twinkling light that lived deep inside of him, put there by a dragon, feeding off Merlin's love for his friend who had been King, was sending out thin, cautious rays in the direction of his heart, like something that might yet grow into a quiet hope. He hadn't wanted to think about Kilgharrah's words so soon. It was all too much; he didn't want to think about Arthur in a way that implied that someday…somehow…he might be by his side again, in flesh and blood, only to find that it had just been the confused gibberish of a dying – or lying – dragon. _Arthur is not just a king. He is the Once and Future King. Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again._ What the hell did that mean? Always that stupid beast had been talking in riddles, never a straight answer, not even in the face of death. But somehow, remembering Kilgharrah's words had stirred another memory of words heard so recently, although it appeared to have been so long ago… _Your journey has only just begun. You wield a power you cannot yet conceive of._ He had assumed that the power his father's…ghost, his image, or whatever it had been had spoken of was the power he had used to defeat the Saxons. But now he came to think of it, he was sure that this couldn't have been what Balinor had meant. Yes, he had easily fought an entire army, and that surely was no mean feat. But that hadn't been the first time he had brought down lightning from the sky. He had done it before, a long time ago, on the Isle of the Blessed, when he had killed Nimueh.

True, he hadn't really been in control of it then, it was rather like something that came over him with his rage at the witch who wanted to kill Gaius. At Camlann, it had been different, he had been fully in control of his powers. But essentially it had been the same power. He had always been in possession of it, it was nothing new, not something he could not "conceive of". So the question was, what _was_? Surely not bringing back people from the dead?!

He looked up and saw that Gaius was watching him, worry deepening the many lines on his face, his kind eyes full of pity. "It's alright," he said in response to the old man's unspoken question. "I'm fine. Everything is going to be alright, Gaius." And the moment the words had left his lips he realized that he truly believed them.

Gaius kept examining him. "You're most certainly not _fine_, Merlin. It's just like you to put on a brave face, and I honour you for it, but I...," he sighed, "I miss Arthur, too. Camelot is empty without him. It hurts my old heart that he had to leave this world so soon, but it was written down in the stars that Mordred would be his doom, even though I was loth to put too much faith in the old prophecies. They all came true, didn't they." He shook his white head sadly.

Merlin was still looking at him, alertly, wondering how much he should tell his old friend. Or what there was to tell, really. It was strange, because all at once, without knowing why, he was convinced that all was not lost, that his destiny was still written out for him, and Arthur's name spelled out side by side with his own. He still had a part to play, an important one, and so had Arthur, he was sure of it, even though as yet he couldn't see how, or how this could even be possible. Then again, what wasn't possible for him, a son of the earth, connected to all things alive and inanimate by the vivid energy of his magic? There had to be an answer! There had to be something, someone, who could explain the great dragon's words to him. Gaius was sure to know about a prophecy about a Once and Future King, or would at least know of a book where it was mentioned. He could tell him what Kilgharrah had said without bringing up the minute spark of hope they had, to his own wonder, just now kindled in him. Or maybe it was time to be truthful now, for not holding anything back? Gaius had always been so anxious for him to keep his magic secret, and look where all the secrecy and the lies had gotten them! But how could he tell Gaius of his hope without seeming to be just insane, riddled by grief and holding on to any straw? _Listen, Gaius, it could be worse. Actually, Arthur will be back. _Put like that, it almost made Merlin wonder if he really had gone mad.

"You won't be eating the rest of this, will you?" Gaius asked with a nod towards Merlin's bowl. Startled out of his thoughts, the young man shook his head and quickly added: "It was delicious, though!" The physician smiled weakly, chuckling. "You may have powers beyond my imagination now, Merlin, but you're still an awfully bad liar. I'm well aware that cooking isn't my strongest point." Merlin's still so young face turned a faint pink as he rose to help the old man clear the table, but the physician pressed him gently back into his chair and looked down, straight into the boy's eyes, who seemed to him a deeper blue than ever before. "Today_ I_ am the servant, Merlin. You just rest here while I make an infusion of lavender and lemon balm. I fear we will both have need of a calming beverage while you finally tell me everything that happened when I left you and Arthur for Camelot with the Royal seal." He turned to fetch the herbs from the medicine cupboard and walked over to hang a kettle over the fire, leaving Merlin to dread the first time he had to tell the full story of Arthur Pendragon's dying – and of Morgana's death, too. He had been expecting to be haunted by the memory of the cold light leaving her emerald eyes forever as he ran her through with cruel dragon-forged steel, but the truth was that after the fleeting pang of regret for what might have been that had briefly flashed through his consciousness, he had never spared her another thought. She had long been far beyond redemption. Arthur, and Arthur's survival, had been the single idea that had filled his mind and urged his exhausted body onward, tortured by the unutterable fear that this time they might not make it back home. When he thought of Morgana now, he saw her as she had been when he met her: a beautiful, light-hearted, cheerful young girl in a blue and purple silk dress, quick mind, good heart, and passionate soul. He was glad of it; he had never truly hated her, right to the end; feared her, yes; cursed her, too; pitied her, even more. He had been speaking the truth when he said to her that he blamed himself for what she had become. He didn't regret killing her – he had only done what was necessary, after all – but he regretted the choice he had made long ago, the choice not to reveal his magic to her. Well, it wouldn't happen again. No more secrets, no more lies, no more pretending to be what he was not.

When Gaius returned with two steaming earthenware mugs, he was ready. They drew up their chairs to the fire, opposite to one another, and with his long, slim hands wrapped around his tea, breathing in its sweet, grassy scent, Merlin began his tale.

As always, Gaius was a patient and vigilant listener, never interrupting, seemingly taking in every detail with scientific detachment, although his right eyebrow, wandering ever further up, betrayed his emotional involvement with Merlin's story. When they reached Morgana's death, his steady physician's hands shook; when he heard about the King literally dying in the warlock's arms, he did nothing to stop the tears that were falling freely from his eyes. Merlin, too, was crying again by the time he told his guardian of Kilgharrah and the noble creature's cryptic words about Arthur, and when he ended with a description of the King's last journey, his voice was breaking.

Incredibly weary from reliving his ordeal, he tried to summon the courage to tell Gaius about his recent ludicrous idea that although he had seen, with his own eyes, Arthur's body go limp when the essence of life left him, somehow all was not yet lost. While the old man was dabbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe, the boy searched his exhausted brain for words that wouldn't sound desperate, bizarre, or plain raving mad, but being unable to endure the suspense any longer, he just looked straight into Gaius's eyes and blurted it out in true Merlin fashion: "I think that Arthur may come back! I mean, maybe he isn't really dead, Gaius! I know how this sounds, but it wasn't only what Kilgharrah said. Or Balinor." He tilted his head slightly forward, the way he did when he was about to use magic – a gesture that told Gaius how deadly serious he was about this – and went on urgently: "I can't explain it, really, but I have this feeling…the conviction, to be honest – that Arthur hasn't truly departed from this world. Not yet, in any case. I can feel a…presence. I know it's weird, I know that to any intents and purposes he is really dead, and that I was already grieving for him. I'm _still_ grieving for him, but at the same time, I feel that for some reason, his death isn't final, not like other people's death, that he is special, and will get a second chance, and that it's somehow up to me to find a way for him to take that chance!" He stared unblinkingly at Gaius, his breath accelerating.

Gaius, who had listened to Merlin's speech calmly, if a tad dubious, looked back at him thoughtfully. "So Kilgharrah thought that Arthur was the Once and Future King. That's…interesting."

"Kilgharrah told me so the first time he talked to me. Surely I told you? I didn't really think about what that was supposed to mean. I assumed it described him as the future King who would make Camelot as great as it once had been. It was the only reading that made sense to me. But now I see what it really means! Don't you see?" Merlin cried out.

Gaius nodded. "It is said in many old prophecies, dating from the time of the Old Religion and believed by some scholars to be even more ancient than that, that when Albion was in greatest peril, the King that once was would rise again, and protect her. As to the exact meaning of those words, I'm afraid I cannot enlighten you, although there should be a volume or two in the library that could. But I wonder..." He hesitated.

"What?" Merlin asked, urgently.

The physician gave him a cautious look before continuing. "You know your other name, also from ancient prophecy, the one the druids call you by?"

"Emrys, of course, you know I do. What of it?" the young warlock gave back impatiently, but Gaius remained unperturbed. "Well, did I ever tell you its meaning?"

"Its meaning?" Merlin shrugged, his eyes fixed warily on his mentor's. "I didn't know it meant anything."

"Every name for every little thing on earth does have a meaning, Merlin, as you should be well aware of by now," Gaius responded, automatically slipping into mentoring mode, "and so does your foretold name. Emrys means _immortal_." He averted his gaze and took a small sip of his now cold tea.

Merlin stared at him. "_Immortal_? Like in _unable to die_?" he inquired weakly.

"Just like," Gaius agreed with only a hint of amusement. "In some of the ancient legends, Emrys is depicted as a wise man and soothsayer, an advisor of kings, who would be cursed to eternally walk the earth, or, depending on the legend, slumber in his crystal cave until he would be needed again."

Merlin leaned back in his chair, away from the candle that was flickering in a taper on the table, and asked haltingly, one half of his finely cut face shadowed, the other half ghostly illuminated, "Do you believe it's true? That I'm immortal?"

Gaius shook his head. "If I could believe it of any man, I'd believe it of you, Merlin. Your powers have astonished me from the moment you used them to save my life, and you now seem to have gained an amazing amount of control over something that you could only use by instinct before. Magic is the very stuff you are made from, and maybe you will someday be capable of channeling that magic and make it your life source. Who knows? Yes, I could easily believe it, strange as it is. Be that as it may, immortal or not, it's what is implied by immortality what makes this truly intriguing. If Arthur was the Once and Future King, and would one day rise again, he would need his advisor again, wouldn't he? I'm sure that was what Kilgharrah was hinting at, though I can't see why he should do so, save for wanting to give you a measure of comfort, seeing your distress."

"He wasn't always truthful, but once I assumed my authority as Dragonlord over him, he was honour bound not to lie to me," Merlin sad in a low voice.

"No, but he wasn't infallible either. I imagine that he really believed Arthur to be the Once and Future King, and you to be the immortal friend whose task it was to watch over him until he returned, but it does seem quite far-fetched. You yourself told me you were sure that Arthur was dead. And if I know one thing, it's that no-one can return from the dead. Not in a real way, as the person he was before. I trust you haven't forgotten what Morgana did with Lancelot?"

"Of course not!" Merlin cried. "How could I? I buried him myself! But this time it's different! I can _feel_ him, Gaius. He's out there, somewhere, waiting for me. _You have to believe me!_"

"Is that why you didn't set the boat on fire?" Gaius asked gently.

Merlin didn't answer. That had been his exact reason. He hadn't known it then, he had just acted on pure instinct, or maybe in his inner turmoil he had done, without thinking, what his dragon soul brother had wanted.

"You and Arthur were connected by a very close bond, Merlin," the old physician went on, "and I'm not in the least surprised that for you it must feel as if he was still among us. He was your friend, after all! I keep hoping to see him walk around the corner myself, and I fear it will be some time before that expectation ceases. But the dead are dead, Merlin. Arthur is gone, and we are left behind to go on without him as best we can." He reached out with his right hand and for an instance let it lie softly on top of the young man's raven hair. "I know it's hard to accept."

Merlin remained silent. He hadn't exactly expected his old friend to embrace his theory, or rather his quiet little hope, without reservation. It _did_ sound rather far-fetched, even to himself, especially because it had manifested itself so abruptly. But he _knew_ he was right, as sure as he was of the magic flowing through his veins, and for a second he thought, selfishly, that after all he had done, it was a bit of a let-down to be still not taken seriously. However, as he was perfectly aware how it must look to Gaius, and also didn't feel absolutely sure about how exactly it looked to him, he decided to let it go for the moment. He missed Arthur terribly, so much that it hurt every fibre in his body, but he was no longer drowning in his own grief. He had a purpose again. He would find out about the prophecy of the Once and Future King. If Gaius wasn't ready to help him at this point, at least he knew that the library was a good place to start. Sir Geoffrey wouldn't be happy, he thought with grim humour.

Gaius spoke up again, the worried creases around his eyes tightening. "There's another thing, Merlin. I haven't told you yet. Gwaine left us, too. He's dead at Morgana's hand, as a result of her torturing him. I'm so sorry."

Merlin swallowed hard, eyes watering. "I thought he might be. He wouldn't have missed greeting me for the world." A loud sob escaped him. Another of his friends killed by Morgana, and thus, again, by the wrongness of his choice all those years ago. Guessing what went through his mind, Gaius said, "Morgana was responsible for her own actions, Merlin. She chose her loyalties; she could easily have chosen otherwise. Revealing your secret to her might have helped her see that there was another way to live with her gift than by hate, but it could have just as well have been your death sentence."

"And will it mean my death sentence now?" Merlin asked with narrowing eyes. Gaius didn't give an anwer, just watching him, full of sorrow and regret. Merlin sighed. "You're right. I only wish I had at least tried."

"You can't imagine how I wish that too, Merlin. But I was afraid. Mixing her potions to ban her nightly visions was the easier way." The warlock uttered no word of protest, but put his slender hand on his teacher's calloused one. "Shall I tell Gwen where to look for Morgana's body?" he asked. Gaius shook his head. "No. I'll inform her that you know the place, so she can decide what to do about it." He laid his other hand over Merlin's, and so they remained for a while without talking, listening to the low sizzling of the dying embers in the fireplace, thinking of friends lost, and times past.

At last, Merlin stirred, stretching his stiff limbs. It had grown fully dark outside, and when Gaius gave his ward a pointed look and insisted that he was still weak and needed his strength for tomorrow, Merlin nodded. It was one thing to recount the recent happenings to benign old Gaius, whose kind keen eyes beamed at him with paternal pride; talking to the Queen would be quite another, although he couldn't blame her for her hatefulness. He also dreaded walking through the streets of Camelot with everyone staring at him, whispering in corners, mothers shooing their children into their houses. But he would deal with it then. For now, his bed was waiting for him, offering rest and oblivion, if only for a little while. He yawned, and slowly rose from the table.

The old man stood up too, walked up to him and awkwardly pulled him into a stiff embrace. Merlin smiled, a small smile but the first one to reach his eyes since Avalon, and wrapped both his arms tightly around his aged guardian's stooped back. "I'm glad you came back, Merlin." The old man muttered into Merlin's collarbone before he loosened his grip and stepped back, embarrassed by his show of emotion, but the warlock laid both his hands on the physician's shoulders and looked down on him with a real smile now. "I won't lie. I did think of leaving, Gaius. But I felt that it is still my destiny to serve Arthur, and I couldn't have done that by running away and failing all of you even more than I did. I had to bring the news to Camelot. Besides, you didn't think I'd leave you here to fend for yourself? Who would clean your leech tank?"

Gaius smiled back at him and patted him briefly on his back. "I would clean it by magic, lad, though I'm sure I wouldn't make as good a job of it as you would, magic or no. Rest well now, Merlin. I'll be right here if you need something, just yell." Merlin nodded again and turned towards his little chamber. Before he entered, he said without turning, "Goodnight, dear Gaius." As he went in and closed the door, he heard the physician's answer in a hoarse voice: "Goodnight, my son."

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. Chapter 6 - The Wind Is Turning

Chapter 6 – The Wind Is Turning

_A/N: I just realized that Kilgharrah's last words were by no means the first time he referred to Arthur as the Once and Future King. How could I forget that?! Of course I changed that in the last chapter. Thanks again for your kind reviews, and for following my story! MamzelleHermy, thanks so much for what's already your second review. I'm glad you enjoyed reading the fifth chapter! TeganL74 – oh my God! Did you just really compare my writing to JKR's?! I swear my heart skipped a beat when I read your review. It was fun to imagine Gaius's and Merlin's first exchange after all that happened – their sweet relationship was always one of the strongest in the whole show imho. I know many people think that Merlin didn't return to Camelot, but to me it seems, like you say, that Merlin would have soldiered on, would still be serving Arthur, even after his death, because for me, that's what those two embody: duty and destiny. Now, be prepared for more heartwarming moments in the following chapters. We deserve them, don't we? In this one, however, we must stay inside Merlin's head for a little while to see how it is that hope is taking hold of his heart, and have a look into Gwen's, too, whose courage can't let her lie to herself for long. Greetings!_

After closing the door of his bedchamber, Merlin slowly crossed the dark room and sat down, cross-legged, on his cot. He let his hand run over the roughly spun wool of his coverlet, thankful for its real, substantial touch. The food he had eaten, little as it had been, had done much to restore at least some of his bodily strength; his talk with Gaius, however, had done even more, and somewhat eased the burden of guilt and grief that had been weighing him down so heavily on his way home. Yet in spite of the stew in his belly and Gaius's solace in his heart, he still felt strangely lightheaded. It wasn't the same sensation he used to experience when his many duties as Arthur's manservant, court physician's aide, and general castle dogsbody had prevented him from seeing to his own meals; he had felt outright dizzy then, little black stars flickering in front of his eyes when he knelt down and then rose too quickly, making his steps unsteady, while the slight giddiness that now affected him seemed to have no such effect on his sense of equilibrium. If truth be told, it made him feel rather more in control of his movements. His vision appeared to be keener, too. It was as if now that the first violent rush of grief for his friend had subsided and was no longer dominating every other sensation, his senses, natural as well as magical, were returning to him again, more astute than ever before. He wondered if that was why he felt that strange, steady presence he had told Gaius of. Overall, the old physician had reacted well, he mused. He had expected far worse. It was only natural that Gaius at once thought of Lancelot. How could they ever forget that unspeakably dark magic Morgana had used to create a mock image of the knight, or the time when Arthur had unleashed his father's malevolent spirit into the world of the living with the horn of Cathbhadh? But what he was feeling wasn't like that at all. This was no ghostly spectre haunting him, and he certainly wasn't planning to conjure the empty shell of the King's body, which would look at him with blank eyes, not recognizing him. That kind of magic was not for him. Or for anybody else, for that matter.

Slowly, he removed his shirt and breeches and hung them over a stool that was standing to the left side of his bed. Gaius had probably put it there to sit with him while he had been unconscious. The thought filled his lonely heart with warmth. It was no small thing to him that he was still so well loved, even though it was another's company he really craved, another's eyes resting on him with pride and affection, another's acceptance and recognition, and ultimately, his love. The echoes of long-ago exchanges reverberated in his head.

_Alright, I know I'm a prince, so we can't be friends. But if I wasn't a prince…I think we'd probably get on… I always thought if things have been different, we would have been good friends…_ _You came back to look for me! – Alright, it's true. I came back because you're the only friend I have and I couldn't bear to lose you._

Almost constantly, they had both taken great care to camouflage any hints about them being friends with lots of banter, jesting, and (mostly in Arthur's case) horseplay, and once Arthur had become King he had obviously, at times, felt compelled to maintain a certain distance between them for the sake of the public eye, or because of that ridiculous, wrong-headed notion of his that a king had to bear the burden of ruling alone; and sometimes Merlin had distanced himself, weary of pretence and deeply hurt whenever Arthur had chosen – time and again – to ignore his advice, but their friendship had always been strong beneath, a shining bond of trust and loyalty that went both ways and had, he knew, made those in Camelot who had eyes to see wonder what exactly it was about the gangly, scrawny boy that made him the prince's (and later king's) closest confidant.

He slipped his grey cambric nightshirt over his head and added a pair of loose breeches, as the room was already chilly. In his mind, he was wide awake – restless, even, almost exhilarated, his magic pulsating inside his veins as if readying itself, willing him to pay attention, to open up, trying to make him focus; yet at the same time, he was completely exhausted. He could feel every bone in his body, almost as if he had spent the day in the training grounds being hit over the head repeatedly. He would never have thought that he might ever miss _that_.

The young warlock blinked a tear from the corner of his right eye, then pulled back the striped blanket and folded his lanky figure onto the bad, arms crossed behind his head. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and called up a mental picture of Gwaine, grinning broadly at him, flipping back his long chestnut hair in that matchless gesture of his, crunching a big red apple between his teeth. Next to Arthur, he had always considered the fun-loving knight to be his best friend – not a part of himself in the way the King had been, but a true friend nonetheless, affectionate and loyal to the death, ever up for mischief as long as it included a good fight, a pretty maiden, and a tankard of mead, his easy-going nature drawing Merlin out of himself at those times when he had found his destiny to be overwhelming. And now he was gone. He wondered if the funeral rites had been performed already, but dimly recalled that there had been dozens of still forms shrouded in white, and decided that the first thing he would do tomorrow, royal hearing be hanged, would be to find out where Gwaine's body was, and to weep for him properly, and bid him farewell, and beg Gaius to tell him the entire story of how Morgana had brought about his end.

He turned to one side, tucking up his long legs until he was curled into a foetal position, and summoned an image of the once mighty Kilgharrah, his ancient golden eyes full of wisdom, twinkling with amusement out of his noble and terrible scaly face. He hadn't always seen eye to eye with the dragon, and ignored his advice countless times – _and all the time you were right! It all came to pass! I should have killed Morgana and Mordred when I had the chance! _– but when he found himself in peril the dragon had unfailingly come to his aid, and not only because he wielded a dragonlord's power, Merlin could tell that. In a singular, odd way – the only way a human and a dragon could be, perhaps – they had been true friends. In all probability, his dragon friend was dead as well, and would now never see magic returned to the land, for hadn't it been foretold that he couldn't do that without Arthur? _And you said that I didn't fail? All that I have dreamt of building has come to pass? Who were you kidding, Kilgharrah?_

His heart also went out to all the other men who had lost their life at Camlann, although he told himself that many had been saved because of him, but that didn't really comfort him because he still thought that he had made the wrong decision, that he should have gone for Mordred first and deal with the Saxons later, and that he would gladly sacrifice their lives if he was given the chance to decide again, if only he could save Arthur. He couldn't help it. His very soul felt split in half. Only now that Arthur was lost to him, he truly understood what the words "two sides of the same coin" really meant. He and Arthur hadn't just been brothers, soul mates. They had shared one soul between them, one destiny, one life. He saw that now. Only…how could he still exist, and go on breathing, why hadn't his heart stopped beating when his other half had died? He knew Arthur was dead! He had held him in his arms when he perished, had felt his heart stop beating, his warm skin turn cold, his breathing cease. His brain told him that there could be absolutely no doubt that Arthur Pendragon was no more, and that Gaius was right, that the dead couldn't be brought back from the otherworld, but at the same time his every sense was crying out loudly to him that it was not so. In his mind's eye he could visualize the Arthur-shaped hole that had made him feel hollow inside, and it seemed to him that although not gone, it was filled with a clear golden mist that was slowly swirling in spiral patterns. The peculiar presence he had become aware of so suddenly in Gaius's room was growing stronger now, tangible. He was reluctant to admit it even to himself, but it wasn't only a feeling, nor a premonition, nor a sorcerer's connection with the spirit world. It was Arthur's presence, his soul shining like a radiant ball of pure gold, pulsating, reaching out for him, beckoning to him, calling him from across the dark, smooth, glassy surface of a lake…calling him…_Merlin….Merlin…Merlinnn!_

Merlin woke with a violent start, pulled upright in his bed by the strangely distorted voice and the same piercing pain inside his skull that had attacked him earlier in the evening. He listened intently, sitting perfectly still, only his eyes moving back and forth hectically the way they always did when he was nervous, trying to penetrate the darkness. "_Bryne_," he murmured and looked round the room, squinting slightly against the bright flame of the candle his spell had lit up. Nothing was there. His heart pounding loudly in his ears, he waited for Gaius to enter, but all remained silent. Good. That meant that he hadn't screamed this time. Had it been a nightmare? All he could remember before sleep had claimed him – or maybe he had already been sleeping? – was an image of Arthur in front of his inner eye, Arthur no longer wounded, but alive and healthy, clad in long flowing robes of pristine white, not unlike those in which he had awaited the quest that showed him worthy to be king, Arthur with the sun glistening in his flaxen hair, flashing that kind, radiant open smile at him, the real smile he had reserved for those moments when he was truly himself, Arthur the man, not King Arthur, the statesman or dashing knight of Camelot. In his dream – had it really been a dream? It had seemed so solid to him, so tangible – this Arthur had moved his lips as if he was shouting, shouting Merlin's name, he knew, although he hadn't been able to hear it, and reached out to him, holding out his hand for him, beckoning his friend to join him, but Merlin had been frozen in place, unable to move, and then he saw that Arthur was wearing falconer's gloves, and that a large black bird, a raven, had alighted on Arthur's outstretched arm. Arthur had stroked the raven's head, fed him a piece of meat, and talked to him, before he raised his arm again to send the bird towards Merlin – and after that, the blinding pain had pierced him.

When he shook his still dizzy head in an attempt to somewhat clear it, he felt beads of perspiration drip down from his brow and realized that his nightclothes, too, were soaked in sweat. He took the taper with the candle in his hand and walked over to the window, which he opened with care so the squeaking sound of its old hinges wouldn't wake Gaius, and let the crisp night air wash over his hot face and neck. As it was still very dark – dawn had to be hours away yet – he couldn't make out the familiar roofs and gables of Camelot's lower town. Not a sound was to be heard, nor a light to be seen. The city was deeply asleep. Somehow, this silence soothed him. He lingered in front of the open window for some time, wishing he could go and walk through the maze of cobbled streets he knew were spread out below him, but he reckoned that in the light of the recent events it could seem suspicious if he was seen wandering about the city in the middle of the night. Gwen had spoken quite openly about him being a sorcerer, so he assumed the court and knights were sure to know about his magic, and as the servants always had their eyes and ears open for the chance of fresh gossip, and news travelled fast within the city walls, he assumed that every citizen would have heard something about him, even if the accuracy of the information would have diminished greatly by the time it had reached the taverns. In any case the most prudent course was to stay clear of the city until he had learned what the queen intended to do about him. Burn him at the stake, maybe, or banish him from Camelot forever, he thought grimly.

Going back to sleep seemed equally out of the question, though, he was far too restless, so after a minute or two he decided to take a short walk round the castle grounds. Certainly that would be in order – he wasn't a prisoner, after all, even if he _had_ broken the law, but it had to be crystal clear to every last and lowest soldier in Camelot's army that he had saved the whole kingdom, hadn't it? Making up his mind, Merlin quickly dressed in the clothes he had worn yesterday – they were still as good as freshly laundered – donned his boots and leaned over blow out the candle, when something occurred to him. He went to his wardrobe, opened it and removed his second-best red neckerchief, which he wrapped lovingly around his neck. There. That was better. Shaking his head briefly at his own quirky habit, but still feeling much more at ease with his scarf in place, he extinguished the candle. Quietly he opened the door, taking care to close it again behind him when he had stepped through, and slowly tip-toed across Gaius's gloomy chambers towards the exit, lit only by the very last embers in the fireplace. When he passed the old man's rickety bedstead, he stopped and, as he had done so often before when embarking on nocturnal adventures, magically arranged the slipped-off blanket properly again around Gaius's slumbering form. As his irises assumed the rich amber colour of living magic, he let his gaze rest upon his old friend's peaceful face for a little while, like a caress.

….

Queen Guinevere Pendragon was awakened by a subtle, sweeping noise that drifted almost imperceptibly through the darkness of the large and handsomely furnished room that had once been little Prince Arthur's nursery and remained his sanctuary all throughout his youth and early manhood. He had grown so fond of these quarters that he had continued to reside there after he was crowned instead of moving into his father Uther's former chambers, although those were even roomier and more lavishly furnished, insisting that his room had been good enough for him all his life and that would certainly not change only because his title had, a speech that was reverentially repeated up and down Camelot's main market street as a mark for the kind of King he would become, although Gwen had suspected that he just didn't fancy the commotion and disorder a change of chambers would inevitably bring.

Lulled by this steady stream of pleasant thoughts about her dead husband, Gwen closed her eyes again and gave in to the smile that drifting back to oblivious sleep, but not before a still alert part of her bereaved mind had become aware that the broth Gaius had brought her this evening and almost fed her by force must have been laced with a sleeping draught of some kind.

When the softly swishing sound, like the trailing of a long silken dress on smooth, worn-down flagstones, reached her ears again, she sat up in bed again, thankful, for it helped her befuddled mind to come out of its potion-induced haze and form lucid ideas once more, even when the first and only idea that beleaguered her was Arthur, Arthur, only Arthur, dead, gone, lost, the love of her life taken from her after so short a time together…she broke into silent, broken sobs that shook her whole body in a rhythm that was already familiar to her, familiar like the rocking of an infant's cradle, or the steady movements of a mother-to-be embroidering her first-born's linen. So familiar, and yet never to be experienced, not by her, never by her, because she had not only lost her husband, but her unborn sons and daughters too. Forever they would be standing mutely beside her from now on, visible only to her, sweet little boys with Arthur's yellow hair, fair complexion and blue eyes like the summer sky, beautiful little girls with her own olive skin, brown eyes, and long tresses of mahogany hair. How could she stand upright in the future, and go about her business, be queen to this kingdom and a leader of her people, with those cold, silent eyes accusing her and no Arthur to dispel their ghosts with a swing of his shiny sword? She hadn't wanted all this, truly she hadn't. Being queen was nothing to her – being Arthur's wife was what her heart had desired. Of course it was nice to live in the castle and let others do her bidding for a change, and she had enjoyed it – which young women wouldn't? – but she had never forgotten the hard work that made her luxurious life as queen possible, and treated every servant in her household with respect and kindness, and felt great humility when she looked at what life had gifted her with. Until the most precious gift had been taken away.

There it was again, the low noise of fabric gliding over a smooth surface, this time accompanied by a sharp knocking or rapping sound.

Gwen heaved a last long sigh, then tucked up her feet and, sitting cross-legged on Arthur's old four-poster bed, assumed as dignified an expression as she could manage, and did what she should have done half an hour ago, and called in the her guards. The men responded at once, lighting the candelabras, listening to her with concerned expressions on their faces, strained their ears for the noise she had described, assured her that no-one and nothing could have entered the room without them noticing, searched the room and its back chambers anyway, wishing her a good rest for the remainder of the night, and left to reassume their position outside the door. Completely useless. She didn't feel reassured in the least. The comfort they had to give her wasn't the comfort she yearned for, and for a moment she contemplated calling Sir Leon and asking her to sleep in the manservant's chambers that boasted a decent bed, though it had been used for all kinds of things, save from being slept in by a manservant, seeing that Mer…Arthur's manservant had resided in the court physician's quarters. She immediately dismissed the idea. It would have been nice to have her old childhood companion by her side, but she had burdened him too much already in the past days with all the things that had to be seen to after the battle and with the king missing, and she knew he would be grieving for his king and friend, too, and had no wish to impose on that grief. Apart from that, her instinct told her that it would not do for the queen to appear weak, not even when faced with her beloved husband's death, and if summoning the knight-in-command of the castle guard to hold her hand while she went to sleep wasn't weak, nothing was. Such things were known by the whole castle tomorrow and by everyone in the city the day after and could seriously affect the morale of her people who, like herself, were only just beginning to come to terms with the disastrous betrayal of their erstwhile princess, the Lady Morgana, and the cruel and relentless war she had waged against the city that had been her home. Gwen wouldn't let that happen. She would pull herself together, triumph over her loss with her head held high, and be a shining example for the people of Camelot, a queen to be proud of. Anything else would mean that Morgana had gained a victory after all, however small.

After having cried for most of the day, her last rush of violent grieving had left her utterly cried out, and it also seemed to have dispersed the last aftereffects of Gaius' sleeping potion, leaving her clearheaded again, kind of exhilarated, even, the burden of her grief taken from her for the moment and replaced by a peculiar restlessness. She rose from her bed and stepped over to her toilet table, where she sat down and observed own ghostly reflection in the mirror. The unfamiliar chalky hue that overlaid her bronze skin did not alarm her, she had been expecting that, given that she had hardly eaten today, but the hard lines around her mouth and chin made her flinch. Even in her beautiful face they reminded her of the lines she had seen on the harsh, stern countenance of King Uther, the father Arthur had so desperately strived not to resemble, who had ruled over Camelot with an iron hand. Putting on a brave, strong face was one thing, but did she really want to be seen as the cruel, steely queen who refused to be broken? Was that who she was? In the past weeks she had been forced to act in a way she would never had thought possible before, putting matters of state over her natural compassion and sense of justice, getting a small glimpse of what must have made Uther the man he had become. It had slowly dawned on her that maybe wrong and right weren't always as easy to distinguish and disentangle as they seemed to be when she was still just a serving girl. There were so many things that had seemed so totally different from how they really were.

She closed her eyes, resting her head in her hands, knowing that she couldn't put off thinking about him any longer.

She knew she had been hard on Merlin. Even as she had accosted him, she had known in her heart that he wasn't the one to blame, that Morgana was the villain of the piece, and that Uther with his lies and his fanatic hatred and unyielding prosecution of those possessing magic were, in part, responsible for what had become of the daughter he had refused to acknowledge, afraid of admitting a moment of weakness. None of it was Merlin's fault, although she imagined that he probably blamed himself anyway. He was that kind of person, always had been. And always, ever since coming to Camelot, he had indeed taken his fair share of blame for everything, from the day she'd met him, his narrow back bent and his arms fastened to the stocks, pieces of rotten vegetables in his jet-black hair, looking up at her with those ridiculous ears and that radiant smile on his elfish features. Even then, she had sensed something different about him, and suddenly she gasped as that distant day's conversation with him came back to her, her own voice and his deep one resonating through her mind:

…_because you don't look like one of these big, muscle-y kind of fellows._

_Thanks._

_No! No, I'm sure you're stronger than you look. It's just…, Arthur's one of these real rough, tough, save-the-world kind of men, and...well..._

_What?_

_You don't look like that._

_I'm in disguise._

It made her want to cry again. She remembered that she had laughed when he said that, but he hadn't only been joking. He had been speaking the truth. Looking back, she could see that he had always been trying to avoid direct lies about his…sorcery, his magic, but not wanting to put her in a position where she had to choose between her friend and the laws of Camelot. That, too, was so _Merlin_! He had left so many hints for those with eyes to see that she still couldn't believe how blind she had been! All those years he had been living at the heart of Camelot as a sorcerer in perfect disguise as the scrawny, clumsy – if likable – servant the prince seemed to unaccountably have taken a liking to, while in reality he had been pulling strings behind the scenes all the time, risking his life again and again, never complaining (well, not much anyway), never getting any credit, being bullied around by Arthur, even if that had just been Arthur's awkward way of hiding how much his friendship with Merlin meant to him, protecting her, protecting Camelot, protecting Arthur, saving his life.

Now she knew what Merlin was capable of, she marvelled how he had been able to maintain his unassuming life as Gaius' apprentice and Arthur's servant. It seemed to be genuinely nothing to him that he was not recognized and praised for what he had done. The only thing that had mattered to him was to be with Arthur, just as Arthur didn't really feel complete unless Merlin was at his side. They always had been so close to each other, even when they disagreed about something, which naturally they did all the time. They had been like…like two sides of the same coin, and it had sometimes made her a bit jealous. She hadn't been blaming him for returning without Arthur this time, after so many times he did save him. She could admit it to herself now: she was jealous, because he had been with Arthur when he died, while she herself had not.

Well, this would end now. She had seen the hurt and despair in his deep blue eyes before he had passed out in the courtyard yesterday, and suddenly she was seized by the overwhelming desire to make it up to him, to be his friend again, to tell him that it was alright, she knew he had tried everything in his power, she knew that he would never have abandoned his friend, even though she didn't know the reason why he was so unwaveringly loyal to Arthur. She would find that out. Now. _Never mind the lateness of the hour. Some things cannot wait, and this is already overdue. He'll understand._

She got up, slipped her feet into the silk shoes the maid had left beside the bed, grabbed her robe from a chair and hastily threw it over her nightdress. Straightening her back, she opened the door, informed the surprised guards that she had an urgent matter to discuss with the court physician, and walked briskly down the passageway, making the torches on the stone walls flicker as she passed them. While she was ascending the large round stairway, it occurred to her that the strange noise she had woken her had sounded like a large bird stretching its silky feathers against the windowpane.

TO BE CONTINUED


	7. Chapter 7 - The Queen and her Sorcerer

_A/N: Sorry for keeping you waiting so long. I have been super busy this past week and didn't have much time for this story, but now I'm back. I enjoyed all your reviews tremendously, they make me think, so please continue to write them! Next time I'll answer them all individually again, I promise. I hope this chapter hasn't become too fluffy – it wasn't easy to get this right but I can't do any better, so there you are. Have fun!_

Chapter 7 – The Queen and her Sorcerer

A storm had risen from the west, tugging forcefully at the banners that were flying over the rooftops of the citadel and driving away the dense cover of clouds that had been gathering over Camelot since nightfall. The now visible moon, circled by a feathery halo, bathed the white marble walls of the castle and its outbuildings in a cold, leaden light that threw every angle into relief, but did little toward actually providing illumination. For Gwen, who had walked here so many times before, frequently carrying an unwieldy laundry basket, the moonlight was more than sufficient to advance briskly along the portico that overlooked the main courtyard, her silk-clad feet touching the stone floor without a sound. When, from old habit, she turned her face slightly to the right in the direction of the cobbled way that lead from the courtyard to the upper town, where her husband had so often disappeared on soldier's duty, or some foolhardy quest, she gasped and stopped walking, almost skidding to a halt from her own momentum. There was someone down in the courtyard, moving slowly but somehow purposefully, apparently making for the left-hand side of the courtyard lane, where it led to the training grounds. For the fraction of a moment she froze, thinking of Morgana, before she remembered what Gaius had quietly told her some hours before, sitting beside her bed. Morgana was dead, felled by Merlin's hand. Although the courtyard itself was never specially guarded, to grant members of the royal household the freedom to go about their business in relative privacy, all the outer battlements were patrolled and the various gates between the main city gateway and the entrance to the citadel always manned by experienced swordsmen, so Gwen knew it had to be someone from the castle. Relaxing slightly, the young woman moved closer to the balustrade to get a better glimpse of the dark outline below, when it stepped out of the shadow of the castle's east wing into the full, if gloomy, light of the moon, and she froze again.

The figure seemed quite tall, with a dark head, slender physique and an awkwardly graceful, deliberately stalking gait she would have known anywhere.

_Merlin!_

What in the name of Camelot was he doing here in the middle of the night? And where was he going? _You're not leaving!? _

There was only one way to find out. She didn't want to call him for fear of alerting the guards in their room on the ground level, so flew along the passageway as fast as her slippery shoes would allow, opened the door that opened onto the great stairway and plunged down it to the entrance level, her long hair dancing behind her, checked that the doors were deserted, and swiftly went outside and down the stone steps. She stopped, panting, just as he was disappearing around the sharp bend to the right of the castle road – to the training grounds, sure enough. Staring after him in disbelief – it was the middle of the night and the wind biting, even in the sheltered quadrangle of the courtyard – she pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself holding it together at the front with both hands to keep out the chill air, and followed him. When she had turned around the corner, she paused, hidden in the deep shadow cast by the massive castle walls, her eyes searching the dark lawns for him.

After a minute or two, she spotted him at the far end of the grounds by the tents, moonlight reflecting the red from his scarf as a deeper shade of grey against a greenish-grey background. If she had harboured any doubts as to his identity, by now they would have vanished. Gathering the fabric of her garments, she moved slowly through the dewy grass that drenched her thin slippers, feeling hesitant all of a sudden. Did she really want this confrontation now? How would she start? Was there a way for them to resume the easygoing relationship they'd once had, before she became queen and he…no, he was the one who hadn't changed. He might have powers she couldn't even imagine, but if Gaius was to be believed he had always had those. He might be able to summon lightning from the sky, and who knew what else, but he was still the same person, she reminded herself – kind, good, sweet Merlin, loyal to the death.

She swallowed the bitter bile that rose in her throat. How could she ever look him in the eye again after the way she'd treated him yesterday? And after everything he had been through? And while she still felt angry with him, just – she admitted to herself – because right now she had no-one else to be angry with? There was nothing for it, though. She didn't care about him being a sorcerer. He was still Merlin. He was, still and always, her friend. And she needed his friendship now, more than ever.

When she cautiously approached him from the side, she saw that he was squatting on a small stack of hay bales, his back and head leaned against the top bale, still as a statue, his eyes closed. She stood there looking at him, taking in his skin-and-bone appearance, his bloodless face, the sharp cheekbones standing out harsher than ever before, and her grief at this moment was eclipsed by pity. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he spoke in a hoarse whisper, his eyes still shut.

"I'm so sorry. I thought I could save him, Gwen, I really did."

The sound of her name's childhood diminutive, never used by anyone since she was crowned, made her eyes well up again. She moved closer, stopping when she was directly in front of him, and reached down to where he sat to lay her hand lightly on top of his beautiful raven hair.

Merlin gave a start at the touch, his eyes flying open.

The way she was standing there in her simply cut nightdress of fine but undyed linen, wrapped up against the gale in an equally simple red cloak he recognized as her dressing gown, her long loose hair a windblown mess, she looked so much like the merry young serving-girl that had teased him about his lack of muscle all those years ago that he couldn't help himself.

"You don't hate me then?" he blurted out, quickly looking away from her, his eyes moving rapidly to and fro, betraying his tension.

Guinevere let her hand drop back to her side, then lowered herself onto the wet hay to sit beside him, her face turned towards him, while he kept staring ahead.

"I could never hate you, Merlin. Well, not for long," she said softly. "We're friends. We always have been. All three of us."

He turned his head a small way in her direction without looking at her. "Four of us, once," he again whispered huskily. "You'll want to know –" he then began, but she cut him off.

"Gaius came to me after nightfall, when he had seen you to bed. I know all. And I – I want you to know that I couldn't be more thankful for everything you have done for… him. For all of us, in truth. And I'm truly sorry for how I received you this morning. I just –," she paused, drawing a deep breath. "When I finally had put the pieces together, and asked Gaius if I knew the sorcerer who saved us, and he said yes, I was so – so exhilarated! I realized just how many things and happenings had not been what they seemed, and I thought….," she stopped briefly, uncertain of his reaction, then went on, "I thought that if you were able to defeat Morgana's army single-handed, there could be nothing in the world that you couldn't do, and surely bringing Arthur back was a picnic for you!"

Merlin still didn't look at her, finding that he was strangely touched by the fact that she had discovered his secret on her own, even if a bit late in the game. "It wasn't," he said slowly, sensing her rising wrath and despair, dreading what he was sure was now to come, though aware that it would probably bring her relief, and carried on with deliberate calmness. If she needed to be a storm, he could just as well provide a calm sea for her to rage over, he figured. "A picnic, I mean. He was badly wounded by Mordred's enchanted blade, and the forest was still teeming with Saxons. And then Morgana found us. She wanted him dead."

Gwen couldn't help it. She truly wanted him to know that she was grateful for what he had done, and that she still considered him her friend, but at the same time she wanted to yell at him, hit him, grab his shoulders and shake his lanky frame until he admitted that it was his fault that Arthur was dead. It had to be _someone's_ fault! Hadn't it?

Unable to snap out of the paroxysm of rage, grief, and helplessness that had seized her, she clenched her fists, blood rising to her cheeks, and stared hard at the side of his face, willing him to meet her glare. When he didn't do so, she shouted, her eyes narrowing in anger, "Oh, alright, it wasn't so easy then! Fine! Well done! But you're a goddamned _sorcerer_, Merlin! You could have blasted them all from here to Essetir without blinking an eye, couldn't you! And that, that - _dragon_! _Why_ didn't you call him _right away_? Why wait so long? He could have used fire against any stray Saxon bands!" Her chest was heaving, and she shivered in the icy wind that whipped against them aggressively now. "And will you kindly look at me!" she snapped. "I'm tired of talking to your ear!"

Merlin shifted his weight on the prickly hay before he turned to face her at last, his kind eyes a soft, dark night sky blue in the moonlight, his voice even but full of an ancient grief that didn't need tears to make itself felt, carrying the sadness of a thousand years. "There seemed to be no need. Things were looking quite hopeful. We were making good time despite his wound, and Kilgharrah – the dragon – had told me that his cycle would soon be over, that ere long, he was going to die. I didn't want to further shorten the time left to him. I'm the last dragonlord, Gwen. Balinor was my father. I'm obliged by the age-old laws of magic, magic that grows from the earth itself, to use that power for the good of the dragon race. I was not going to abuse that power. Don't you see? That would have made me no different from Morgana, and those like her, who use magic for evil, and for gaining power which isn't theirs by rights. I'm not like them, just a sorcerer, only using_,_ and abusing, magic. I am a _warlock_! I was born with magic, born _of_ magic, destined from the beginnings of time to serve Arthur Pendragon and help him build a new united Albion, where all people lived in peace and prosperity and magic would have its rightful place as a force for good. Only true desperation justified summoning a dying creature of magic like Kilgharrah, because come he must when I called him. A dragon can't resist a dragonlord's call, even if it will mean his instant death. The moment I was desperate, I called for him, but it was too late."

Guinevere stared at him, her face still distorted by the violent emotions that raged within her, but with a hint of wonder in her large eyes. She had never heard him speak like this before, so serenely self-possessed, so full of…_authority_, there was no other word for it, clearly grieving, full of regret, but of acceptance too. _A warlock?_ He looked no different from how she knew him, thin, gangly, his pale, honest face displaying his every emotion – in this instance, pain, but also pity – as plainly as ever before. Yet he was different, or rather, she saw him differently, as if from an angle she had never applied until now, or as if a veil had suddenly been removed from her eyes. Something inside her gave way, and left her throat as a harsh, rattling noise. "I miss him so much, Merlin! He was my life. How can he be dead? What am I to do now, Merlin? How shall I live, without him? I need him so much. I want him back, Merlin! Why – didn't – you – bring – him – back?!" With each of the last words she pounded him on his shoulder with both fists, so hard that he struggled to keep his balance. The tears that had been welling up in her eyes now spilled over, and she at last began to cry in loud, violent sobs, clutching her face in her hands, repeating Arthur's name over and over again in a broken voice like the incantation for a spell.

Merlin hesitated, at a loss what to do for a moment, taking in her arched back, her shaking shoulders. Then, blinking through tears of his own again, he moved closer and reached out for her in one fluid motion, pulling her towards him until her head rested below his collarbone, enfolding her in a close embrace. Gwen let it happen without resisting, burying her nose in the coarse wool of his tunic, clinging to him with the feeling of someone drowning who has finally got hold of a branch to pull herself out of the water. As she gave herself over to her sorrow, he let his chin rest lightly on top of her head, whispering soft strange words she didn't understand, and when Merlin's warm tears fell onto her cheek, mingling with hers, she felt a peculiar warmth spread through her veins like a current of molten gold, calming her, taking away hate and guilt and leaving only the steady pain of her grief that was born of love, and would, in time, be love again. _What is this? What is happening to me?_ The stream of golden light seemed to enfold her, lifting her up and carrying her, small particles of gold dancing around her, flitting and glimmering in front of her until at last they arranged themselves into a picture, a likeness of Arthur's face, his eyes smiling sheepishly at her from under his long fair fringe, before the image crumbled away, the golden flow of magic slowly retreating. Her sobs began to ebb until only her tears kept flowing, her rigid body grew limp, and she wept in the arms of her husband's best friend until she could weep no more.

For what seemed a long time, even after the crying had ceased at last, they continued to sit like that, the unlikely queen and her just as unlikely sorcerer, listening to the wind singing in their ears and holding on to one another, brother and sister, united in yearning for the man who wasn't here with them, when a loud croaking noise made them jump up from their seat in alarm. Gwen glanced around nervously, stepping backwards with a jerk when she saw his pupils glow as he lit a brazier that was standing in front of the nearest tent.

"Sorry. It's quicker," he said apologetically, but Gwen shook her head.

"No, it's fine! It's just a bit –"

"Odd?"

She nodded, with a small smile in her eyes. "I just have to get used to the fact that you're not a bumbling idiot after all."

"Careful," he said, his eyes twinkling, reached for one of the torches that were stacked neatly next to the brazier, and thrust it into the fire to light it, "I let _him_ get away with that, but that doesn't mean I'm prepared to take such abuse from you, my lady. Here!" he called out, holding out the torch to illuminate the wooden railing that separated the training field from the tents. A large black bird with glistening plumage was perched on it with its wings open to steady itself in the wind, the beadlike eyes glittering in the light and cawing again with a loud croak. Gwen let out a relieved breath. "It's only a crow! It's very late for it to be about, though. Normally the flocks gather in their roosts at night to sleep."

Merlin took a step towards the bird, then another. "That's not a crow," he said, looking back to Gwen over his shoulder. "It's a raven. It's larger, and its tail is shaped like a wedge, not like a fan as a crow's tail is, see?"

Gwen went to stand beside him. "You're right. Crows don't have this wet sheen on their feathers either. Still, they, too, never sleep alone. I wonder if this storm has prevented it from returning to the flock?"

"Probably." He continued to approach the rail until he was standing only an arm's length away, but the raven didn't take flight, despite the proximity of the blazing torch. "That bird is remarkably unafraid, don't you think?" he called out.

"Yes, but we should go back inside now before we get blown away," she said with a feeble semblance of her old pretty smile, "or before we are missed. This raven doesn't look as if it's hurt. It will get along fine."

Merlin looked at the raven one last time, than turned around and went to Gwen. "I guess you're right. I'm almost as cold as I was when the Dorocha hit me. And when Gaius finds my bed empty he'll think the worst." He offered her his free arm. "May I, my lady?" he asked, only half in jest.

She smiled again, a real smile now, and accepted his arm, and they began to walk back to the courtyard. "But you mustn't stop calling me Gwen, Merlin, alright? At least when we're alone."

"We won't be alone," he said soberly.

"Yes, we will. When I summon you to report to me. I haven't heard about Arthur from _you_, only from Gaius. You – you were with him when – when he died. I want you to tell me everything – what he said, how he looked – and I want to know about all those years you deceived me! I'll have the whole story now, and know you as the man you really are. It would be Arthur's wish that you're recognized, I'm sure of it, and I intend to know everything you did for him, Merlin. Gods! Arthur had always miraculously come home from every tight spot he found himself in, and most of the time without as much as a scratch! I had always been wondering just how lucky one man can be, even if he's an exceptional swordsman. And you were always with him, without chainmail, or any other kind of protection, never carrying a sword or a knife, or just something sharp-ended! I walked around better armed than you. I had sewing scissors. I should have guessed. I was so blind! And Morgana! How long had she been practicing sorcery before I found out about it? What else did I miss?" She made a strange, pitiful sound in her throat that was halfway between sob and hysterical giggle.

His eyes darted to the side, toward her, and back again in a flash, as if measuring her up, and his fine-drawn laughter lines became just about visible when he said, "I do have a knife, you know. Arthur made me use it for skinning animals whenever – we went on a hunt."

Amazed at the tiny butterfly of pure joy, fluttering gaily above the hard ball of grief inside her stomach when she heard her husband's name being said out loud so casually, she actually snorted. "I bet you loved that."

"Not exactly," Merlin retorted, his wide, radiant signature smile transforming his elfin features into something of exquisite beauty, and it gladdened her heavy heart to see it. To see it somehow felt like being near Arthur, as if Merlin was a part of him, the part of Arthur that was still left to her. She looked at him, and her eyes met.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," he said quietly, and she knew he truly was. He had always been a terrible liar, although, as it had turned out, a pretty good keeper of secrets.

"You had no choice. You know what Uther did to my father – and he wasn't even a sorcerer! You are! You had to keep it secret at all cost. I understand that. But still I wish you had felt that you could trust me with it. I can't be sure, of course, but I like to think I would have stood by you, just like Gaius did."

He stopped when they reached the low battlement wall around which the main courtyard was situated, throwing the torch on the wet ground where it was extinguished. He didn't want the queen to be seen as she entered the castle in the middle of the night in only her nightclothes, in his company. Quickly, he ushered her into the courtyard and up the main stairs, and stretched out his hand to command the door to open soundlessly, without its usual creaking. In the entrance hall they made for the upstairs stairway and ascended it to the first storey, where their ways separated. There, Merlin laid his hand on Gwen's shoulders for the last time, and earnestly looked down into her face.

"Are you feeling a bit better?" he asked her.

She nodded. "I know I'll grieve for him long, and cry many more tears. But I know now that I haven't really lost him. He'll be with me forever. Thank you, Merlin. For being here when I needed you. That feeling I had…that was you doing magic on me?"

He flashed his wide smile again. "It was. Gwen?"

"What is it?"

"You can still make good on me. You can stand by me now, and by all the others like me," he said slowly.

"You mean, legalize sorcery," she clarified.

"Magic," he corrected.

"Is there a difference?"

He thought for a moment before he answered. "Not really; they're both only words, invented by men, to describe a force that permeates every thing in this world we live in, animate and inanimate, the very energy that binds us all. But I for one like to call it magic when it is used for good, and with care and responsibility, and sorcery when it is used for evil, as dark magic, and causes death and destruction." He shrugged, slightly embarrassed by his grand speech.

She straightened to her full height and looked him in the eye.

"I hereby declare that I, Guinevere Pendragon, wife of Arthur Pendragon who fell in battle, rightful Queen of Camelot, will renounce the current laws about sorcery, and officially pronounce the use of magic permitted under the law, as long as it is used towards good and not for personal gain. – What do you think? Does that sound good? Of course it needs to be written properly and with reasonable restrictions and all that, but I leave that to Sir Geoffrey. My only regret is that this hasn't been done ages ago. It would have saved so many innocent people, and so much heartache. Maybe Arthur would be still alive."

"Maybe," Merlin agreed, then bowed. "Goodnight, my lady. I trust you will safely find your room?"

"I will." She hesitated. "Will I see you in the morning? We could breakfast together. Gaius too. I…I need your guidance, and your company. Will you come?"

He bowed again, smiling. "We will come. In the morning."

With that, they parted, both dreading the next day a little less. And they both felt that was something to be thankful for.

TO BE CONTINUED


	8. Chapter 8 - Morgana's Shadow

_A/N: Again, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I would love nothing better than to spend all my time with this story, but the challenges of daily life prevent that – alas. TeganL74: I love your reviews. Thanks so much for taking the time to write them. You really seem to see what I want to tell, that means very much to me indeed! Shell22: Thank you! Sad and sweet are inseparable in my mind, as they must be in Merlin's, I'm sure of it. Alice Hawkins: I'm pleased! It's exactly what I need too. Good to be among fans who feel like I do! Annabelle: I'll do my best to update sooner next time, I promise! These chapters somehow grow and grow though, so at least you get more words to read with every new chapter ;) Starglen: thank you so much! Glad you like it! Ravens are fascinating birds…that's all I can say right now…Anyway, have fun and please keep reviewing, and don't be too uncritical. I want to learn. _

Chapter 8 – Morgana's Shadow

Merlin stirred when the dawn of his second day without Arthur sent the first soft rays of sunlight into his little chamber, but it wasn't the light that made him open his eyes. It was a low, but distinctive, chafing, scratching noise that came from the left – from the window, he realized. He sat up and gazed towards the rectangle of light, blinking against its brightness, and started when he spotted the dark, compact shadow moving to and fro at the level of the window sill.

The young man threw back his cover and leapt out of the bed to take a closer look. With a deliberately unhurried movement of his hand he cleared one of the lower panes from the layer of grime that coated it, absurdly chiding himself in his mind for not washing the glass more often – wiping down the hundreds of small sheets of glass that formed the mullioned windows in his master's chambers once a month had been more than enough for him – and peered out.

It was as he had thought. Staring back at him with beady black eyes, a large raven was balancing on the outer window sash.

Slowly and carefully, Merlin opened the square window. The raven didn't move, but appeared to scrutinize him, as if sizing him up. Which it clearly couldn't be, because obviously birds didn't do such things, but the young warlock had the distinct feeling of being observed by an alert and intelligent presence. Maybe that shouldn't have surprised him, because ravens were known to be very smart birds – it was the reason they were sometimes used for carrying messages. In fact, the court falconer, Rob, did keep a few ravens for this exact purpose and had allowed Merlin to handle them now and then, and come to think of it, while he had enjoyed making them do little tricks (like hiding a piece of meat underneath a wooden bowl and watch them retrieve it), he had never felt the kind of conscious intelligence that was apparent in this creature. And it wasn't a Camelot raven either, because every bird that entered the castle's aviary, be it falcon, hawk, or pigeon, was leg-banded first, with a small ring of sturdy leather bearing a minuscule Pendragon crest, and this raven's legs were bare. Was it the same one he had seen the night before in the training grounds? It was certainly just as little scared, he thought.

Following pure instinct, as usual, he extended his arm towards the bird, trying not to blink in the bright morning sun, and spoke in a low, almost seductive voice. "Hello, my friend. Have you lost your way? Or are you hungry?"

The bird tilted its dark head this way and that in abrupt movements, unfolding its wings halfway and flapping them in obvious indecision.

"It's alright. I won't hurt you," Merlin cooed. The raven hopped closer, onto the inner window sill. "That's right, come on in," Merlin purred, his hand now touching the bird's head, softly stroking the glossy plumage on top of it. "I'm sure I can find some treats for you. I'm a bit lost too, you know. My best friend has…left me. Are you looking for your friends too?"

The bird sat still as a statue, visibly enjoying the young man's touch, as suddenly there was a noise from beyond the door, followed by raised voices, and then the door flew open, admitting the hunky frame of Sir Percival, sleeveless chain mail and all, followed by an outraged Gaius. Before anyone could say anything, the raven had spread his wings and taken flight, soaring over the rooftops of the lower town and out of sight. The old man followed its trajectory with his sea green eyes, intrigued.

Merlin let out a breath in disappointment. "Percival? What –" he began, but Gaius cut in. "I told him he couldn't just descend on you in this manner, at this hour, in these circumstances, but he insisted. And as I'm rather attached to my door…"

The large knight tried to muster his old confident grin, managing only a pitiful, distorted grimace, and bowed to the physician in apology. "I'm sorry, Gaius, but I don't want him to hear this from somebody else. I must tell him, please!"

Merlin looked first at the knight, then to his mentor, puzzled. "About what?"

Gaius sighed deeply. "Go on then, tell him about your ill-fated enterprise – although it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done, and it's not in our power to change it."

Percival made a choking noise in his throat before he spoke. "It's my fault Arthur is dead. Mine…and Gwaine's, but he paid the price already. I haven't. But I told the Queen and now I'm going to tell you, because I don't want you to be blamed for something you're not responsible for. You are a good man." His voice broke, as impressively as everything else his did, and it was a sound Merlin did not at all care for. Percival was not supposed to be so weak and beaten. Right now, he suffered much more than he himself did, and this wasn't to be born.

"This is about Morgana, right?" he asked.

The knight inclined his massive head and faced Merlin squarely. "Gwaine and I, we did a very foolish thing, Merlin. We went after her. We wanted to bring her to justice for what she'd done."

"But you knew she was a powerful sorceress – a High Priestess of the Old Religion!" Merlin cried, incredulous. "How could you even imagine that the two of you could take her on alone? How could you have been that stupid?!"

The towering knight looked stricken, utterly defeated. "I know," he said. "We learned that… the hard way. That snake thing she had?"

Merlin's deep voice remained almost steady as that information sank in. "The Nathair?"

Percival nodded. "She – she tied me up and then tortured Gwaine with it. I can still hear his screams. He told her that you and Arthur were bound for Avalon. When I had managed to free myself he was almost gone…he died in my arms, and I brought him here. That's…that's all. It's all my fault. Camelot lost its king because Gwaine and I couldn't stomach sitting around and doing nothing, when that is exactly what we should have done, and you lost your two best friends because of us. How you must hate me." He hung his head in shame and misery.

Merlin just kept standing there in front of his cot, in his nightshirt, taking in Percival's stooped posture, the hopelessness in his solid face, and for the first time since he took his leave from Arthur in Avalon he felt completely overwhelmed. He didn't want to hear of more suffering, didn't want to feel heartsick any more, didn't want to carry the guilt for the bloodshed he could have prevented if only he had revealed his true nature earlier. Arthur had been right. He was such a coward.

Gaius stepped up to Sir Percival, addressing the knight with atypical bile. "There. Can you now tell me what you hoped to achieve with that confession? Are you feeling better now? I hope so, because he obviously isn't, unsurprisingly."

"Gaius," Merlin said quietly, then went to Percival's side, reaching up to place his hand lightly on his shoulder. "Thanks for telling me, Percival. It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault, only Morgana's. She was the one who caused all this, we shouldn't forget that. And I avenged him. I killed her. It's over."

Something close to pride spread over the knight's face. "I heard you finished her off with Arthur's sword."

"Yeah. Pretty impressive, huh? Didn't think I had that in me?"

Now Sir Percival almost laughed out loud. "Little guy like you, you mean? Well, it was clear to all of us you had more up your sleeve than you let on. We just couldn't say what it was, but I had suspected before."

Merlin smiled at him, a sad, sweet smile. "Really? Well, at least _someone_ did. I always wondered just how blind a knight can be."

Percival let out a (for him) low snort. "Awfully blind, it seems. Fatally."

"So it seems," Merlin continued with a broader smile. "You don't know how often I saved your life, Percival. I couldn't save Gwaine's, in the end, but I'm determined to make sure his death wasn't meaningless."

"How so?" the knight asked, looking at him fixedly.

Merlin held his gaze. "By fighting against dark magic, by the means of good magic. There must never ever be another Morgana in the Five Kingdoms, but Camelot must learn that it can't fight against evil sorcerers without the help of a sorcerer."

Percival looked at him in amazement, then enfolded him in his large arms and clapped him on the back. "You're a good man, Merlin." he repeated. "The best. Arthur could be very proud to have you in his service." Merlin nodded. "And you too, Percival."

The two men shook hands in renewed friendship, and the giant knight stomped out of the physician's quarters without a further word.

When he was gone, Gaius grinned at his ward broadly. "You have become quite the diplomat, Merlin. You handled the situation very well." He lowered his voice. "Although I'm truly sorry about Gwaine. I still think it was unnecessary to tell you about the Nathair. Hasn't there been enough heartache? I ask you." The old man shook his head sadly, while Merlin took off his nightshirt and breeches and went into the main room to fetch the wash basin.

"Good thing you're dressed already," he said to Gaius conversationally as he passed him, "we are to breakfast with the Queen."

The physician's eyebrow went straight to the ceiling. "Breakfast with the Queen? First Percival and now this! And how do you know about it, you've only just left your bed!"

Merlin summoned the grace to look contrite, and while he washed and dressed in a clean set of clothes he had took from his chamber – his purple shirt, which was made of finer cloth than the few others he owned, topped of daringly with his red neckerchief – he told his mentor about his nightly encounter with Gwen and, despite his inkling that Gaius wouldn't approve, about his growing conviction that Arthur could still be saved.

When he ended, running a comb through his thick raven hair, Gaius exhaled audibly, slumping down in the chair he had been resting in during Merlin's tale.

Merlin stopped combing. "What?" he asked.

The physician bent forward, fingering the eyeglasses he held in his hand, watching him. "Merlin," he said finally, in a gentle voice. "I understand how you must be feeling. You really loved him, didn't you? The time when this was only about your destiny has been long gone, has it not?"

Merlin returned his look, but said nothing.

"It was a joy to see you two grow together, recognize each other, become friends," Gaius continued. "Yes, I say _recognize_, because you may be a creature of magic, Merlin, and magic may be the stuff you are made from, but you know as well as I that in the end, all of earth and each and everything in it is made from the same stuff, permeated by magic, even if they are not aware of it. In itself, this is nothing special; you are special because your mind is open to that ancient power, you can feel it and shape it at will, purely because you believe you can do it! Magic, Merlin, in the end is nothing but pure trust. That is the reason you obtained your magic back in the Crystal Cave. You regained your _belief_ in yourself. Arthur knew nothing of this power – although it was probably stronger in him than he was aware of – and nothing of _your_ true power, but nonetheless he was soon willing to lay down his life for you, as you for him. He valued your friendship, not because of your magic, but because of those other mysterious powers you possess so abundantly: loyalty; courage; compassion; determination; and wisdom, too. In short, everything that makes you the man you are. He recognized you, without knowing your secret, just as you were able look past all that swaggering bravado he hid behind, and recognize his kind and brave heart, and his sense of justice, and his compassionate soul. You really were like –"

He stopped abruptly as Merlin hurled his wooden comb across the room with all the force he could muster – which still wasn't that much, but enough to make the old man flinch.

"Stop it!" the warlock shouted. "If you're going to say _two sides of the same coin_ I swear I'll scream! Why are you telling me all that? I didn't ask you to read me his _eulogy_! You don't seem to get the idea of what is happening here! You always go on about what a remarkable sorcerer I am, but still you're not willing to trust me now. All is not as it seems with Arthur, I feel it, I _know_ it, and I owe it to him to consider every single possibility, no matter how weird or far-fetched it might be!"

"I do trust you, Merlin," Gaius said after a moment.

"Then why don't you believe me?!" the warlock yelled in exasperation.

"Because I think your grief is clouding your judgement," the physician replied evenly. "You yourself told me yesterday that he died in your arms. You have been training as a physician at my side for many years now, Merlin, and I know that you accurately tell the moment when the soul leaves the body forever. You know the symptoms, so when you tell me Arthur is dead, I believe you. And from that, it follows that he's gone, and that nothing whatsoever can reverse his death, and bring him back. If it helps your restless spirit, I will gladly go to the library with you, and even get permission to open the book collection in the vaults and look for references about the Once and Future King. But you must stop deluding yourself that he is not dead, Merlin. I won't allow it. It could do serious harm to your mind if you get lost in such fantasies – you could get trapped inside them, lost to the world forever. I've seen it before in others. And now there's an end to it. We mustn't keep Gwen waiting. And it's understood that you won't tell Gwen any of this. She really has enough on her plate, even without this."

Merlin didn't answer, various emotions flitting across his face openly, but as Gaius touched him at his shoulder in a calming gesture, he covered his master's wizened hand with his own and squeezed it, then went to the far side of the room, looking for his comb.

Their morning meal with the Queen went reasonably well, given that both Gaius and Merlin were preoccupied by the discussion they had had earlier. For all Merlin's new-found hope and inexplicable confidence, Gaius' opinion still held much weight with him, and it was disheartening that the wise old physician seemed to think that Merlin deluded himself on this count, because he couldn't deal with his friend's death. Of course, that last bit was nothing but the truth – he _couldn't_ deal with it, he refused to, it was his accursed _destiny_ to protect Arthur, for heaven's sake, and he wasn't about to stop now only because the dollop head had gone and got himself _killed_. No way. Even if he didn't have the slightest idea what he could do about that inconvenient fact. Yet. But he knew that while one part of the prophecies, the one about Mordred killing Arthur, had played out, there were other parts that hadn't – like magic returning to the land. And that had to be significant. He only needed to find out in what way.

Luckily the Queen did most of the talking, and if she noticed the two friends' unusual restrained manner, she didn't comment on it. Gaius marvelled at her energy, and at the lovely colour that had returned to her face. Idly, he wondered what Merlin had said to her the night before, for whatever it was, it seemed to have given her no small amount of comfort. His heart ached for the lad, but it would be madness to encourage his desperate notion that Arthur might really return in the flesh, and involving Gwen would be plain cruel. He believed in prophecies – he had seen too many fulfilled to question their truth – but he strongly suspected that the dragon's last words hadn't been prophetic at all, but a misguided gift of false hope from a lonely old creature who, just like himself, had come to love the boy for his kind heart, unwavering loyalty, and courageous spirit.

Sighing inwardly, he put another grape into his mouth and tried to concentrate on the lengthy speech Gwen had launched into.

"…so I'm going to keep my promise about lifting the ban on magic, but if we want to do it right, it can't be a spontaneous announcement. Magic has been against the law for a long time now and people were used to that, whatever they may have been thinking privately. We don't want them to think it's just a spur-of-the-moment decision. I intend to make it clear that I have really thought this through, which is why will make a proclamation directly after the…crowning ceremony that as a consequence of the circumstances that led to the defeat of the erstwhile Lady Morgana's Saxon army, the council and I will be reconsidering the existing laws against sorcery. I will also proclaim that whatever the law was at the time you practiced magic to save Camelot; you were justified in doing so. And after some weeks have passed we can repeal the old law and introduce a new one that only outlaws Dark Magic. I'm counting on both of you where the phrasing of the law and its body of regulations is concerned. But before any of that can happen, right now we must – we must say goodbye to all those who gave their life for Camelot. Sir Leon and I have arranged for – Arthur's… last… rites to be held this afternoon. Sir Gwaine and all the others will be honoured tomorrow and their families will see to it that _– _Merlin, are you listening at all? This is difficult enough for me; you could at least – _Merlin_?! Are you alright?"

Both she and Gaius looked at the young warlock in alarm. His face had suddenly assumed a ghastly shade of grey, his eyes wide and frightened, and he was swaying drunkenly in his seat. Before they could react, his eyes lost their focus, his muscles grew limp and he sank down from his chair, landing on the stone floor with a muted thud.

_Mmerrlinnn! Merrrrrrlinnnn!_

"Merlin!" In an instant, Gaius was kneeling beside him, feeling his pulse and lifting his eyelids to look at his pupils.

_MERRRRLLINNNN!_

Guinevere had risen from her seat and watched him anxiously, clutching at the skirt of her robe. "What is it, Gaius? What's wrong with him? He looked as if he had seen a ghost!"

Gaius shook his head, his hand probing the side of the young man's throat. "I cannot say, but he is unconscious, and his pulse is racing, a dangerous combination. Do you happen to have any smelling salts in your chambers, Guinevere?"

She thought for a split second. "Yes, I do – I've got spirit of hartshorn – "

"Fetch it, quick!"

"Of course!" She ran off through the door into her bedchamber, returning at once with a small brown bottle. "Here!"

Gaius took the bottle and uncorked it, sniffing at its contents. "Ah yes. That will do. Thank you, my lady."

He gently lifted Merlin's head, resting it on his leg, and held the bottle under the boy's nose, holding his breath. A few heartbeats later, the pale eyelids fluttered, and the eyes flew open, just as the irises changed from deep gold to clear blue. Gwen jumped backwards, alarmed, but Gaius continued to hold Merlin's head and assured her that this kind of thing was normal for magical people.

"Gaius…? What –" Merlin began, his voice cracking, then coughed deeply. "What happened?"

The old physician put his arm under the young man's back to help him sit up. "I should ask you that question, Merlin. You grew rigid all of a sudden and then passed out. Did you hurt yourself?"

Merlin rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. "I have a vicious headache," he declared.

Gaius glanced at Gwen. "That's probably from the impact. You fell off the chair. I assume that you're still in shock. Your blood-pressure must be way too low. And no wonder after what you've been through. - Easy, now boy!" he exclaimed as Merlin stood up, clutching his head.

"It's fine, Gaius."

Gwen stepped up to him, ready to steady him if necessary. "Are you sure, Merlin? Your fall was rather spectacular. You frightened me!"

"I'm sorry, Gwen. It's nothing, though. No, really…I'm alright, really, Gwen. I'm just a bit giddy. It's – it's like Gaius said, I'm still in...shock. Yes. I just need some fresh air, and more rest. I'll go to – um, bed, right now, and have a good lie-down and -," He broke off.

Gaius lifted his eyebrow, clearly not as easily pacified as Gwen, who seemed reassured, but he just gave his ward a meaningful look and kept his silence. Gwen might be taking the first steps toward leading the kingdom into a new age of tolerance, but right now, some things were still better discussed in the privacy of his chambers, and whatever had caused Merlin's fit, it belonged in that category, of this the physician was sure.

He rose from ground, holding his back. "Indeed. Well spoken, Merlin. You are not, as yet, fully recovered, and neither –," he faced Guinevere, "are you, my child, if you are honest with yourself. I'm very glad that the two of you understand each other again, but, if I may give you my professional advice, your wounds have only just begun to close. They are going to hurt for a long time to come – I know mine will, for certain. I have known Arthur since the day he was born, and I met Morgana when she was an innocent little girl in short frocks, and I have loved them almost like a father. Her betrayal, and his death because of it, hurt me more than I could ever say. Some of the blame Merlin likes to load upon himself is, in truth, mine rather than his. I wanted to say this at least once, lest you get the wrong impression from his self-bashing. And now you should rest. You will be in need of all your strength for what lies in store. Come, son." With that, he walked over to the door.

Merlin jumped up from the table. "No, wait, wait! What you said, before I…did…did you just say Arthur's funeral is today?!" Merlin he asked in Gwen's direction, horrified.

"Exactly," Gaius cut in, "and that's why we should take our leave now. There's much to do still."

"But –"

"Merlin." Gaius gave him a stern look. "We really should leave the Queen now. She will want to prepare herself for her ordeal, and so should we."

The boy inclined his head, staring at his mentor mutinously with narrowed eyes, breathing hard, but then he nodded. The physician bowed to Guinevere, opened the door and walked out and past the guards, looking back over his shoulder as a signal for Merlin to follow suit. The warlock watched him go, then looked at Gwen. "Thank you for the meal. It was…"

"Weird?" she completed his sentence, and when his eyebrows went up, she added, "You looked as if it cost you everything you had to just stay put and not start serving the dishes. I remember how that feels, you know." She smiled at him sadly, but he looked at her earnestly.

"There was that, yes. Although we dined together before, remember? But I was born to serve, and I'm not ashamed of that. I was born to serve Arthur, and the weird thing is that he wasn't here with us. I would rather stand behind his chair and make sure his cup is filled than sit down to be served the most delicate food without him."

She walked over to him, placing one hand upon his shoulder, her large brown eyes full of pity. "I know you would. And you served him well, Merlin. I believe no one ever told you that, apart from Gaius, maybe. Well, let me tell you something now. I know how he treated you and everything, but for all that, he deeply cared about you. He never said that, not in so many words, but he did. He'd rather bitten off his tongue than admit to it, the stupid…"

" – prat?" Merlin offered, grinning weakly.

She laughed. "Exactly! He couldn't bear to be separated from you. It even made me a bit jealous sometimes! Do you recall that time when Morgana captured you? How it never, ever would have been an option for him to give up looking for you? He would have searched the whole of the Five Kingdoms, and beyond. I think he considered you the brother he never had. After you told him you wouldn't be coming to Camlann with him, he was really hurt. He got so angry! There was so much to be thought about, and I longed to tell him how afraid I was of losing him, but all evening he kept muttering about _clumsy, cowardly servants_. He trusted and respected his knights, but you were his friend. Maybe the only true friend he ever had."

A single tear rolled down Merlin's cheek as he listened, the other half of his face immersed in the oaken door's shadow, giving him a ghostly appearance. "I didn't want to leave him! I wish I could have told him why I had to!" he cried out hoarsely.

"I wish you had. I'm sure he would have understood. If _I _could work out who you really were, surely he must have too – at least somewhere deep down, he must have guessed something. You were together all the time! He always said there was something about you he couldn't put his finger on."

Merlin swallowed loudly. "Either way, it's too late now. – I must go, Gaius will be waiting." He nodded at her again and turned to the door, but Gwen called him back.

"Oh, and Merlin?"

He turned around again apprehensively, left eyebrow lifted in a droll imitation of Gaius, a feeble attempt at pretending he really was fine, but she either saw right through this or just ignored it, intent about her question and grave as she asked, "There's something I wondered… Morgana – did she…say anything? Before you…killed her?"

Merlin averted his eyes from her pleading face, his heart sinking. He understood only too well what she hoped to hear. She had once been very close to Morgana. It would ease her pain somewhat if she could think that at the last moment, there had been an instant of lucidity, a feeling of remorse to soften the memory of a cruel woman who had once been kind, and loving, and good. But he was done with lies, for good or bad. Lies and secrecy were responsible for his life becoming such a disaster. He would have no more of them. He thought back to the moment when he had thrust the blade in her body, how she had clung to him, clutching at his shoulder with something resembling tenderness, the sword for an instant connecting them in a deadly embrace. He gave a small shake of his head.

"Nothing. I'm sorry." Perhaps in another time, another world, things would have been different. He could have guided her, show her how to use her gift for good, not evil_. I could even have loved her, maybe._

He glanced at the door, suddenly longing to be alone, but it seemed that Gwen wasn't finished yet; she was biting on her lower lip as if searching for the right words, and at once Merlin knew what it was she wanted to know, and to this he at least had something more to say, and he wasn't lying either.

"He loved you with all of his heart, Gwen. I know that. He didn't say it either, but he didn't need to."

"Did he say anything at all?"

"He had something of a rough time coming to terms with my – deception, at first. But he, he – forgave me in the end. His last words to me were his thanks for helping him build his Camelot. He was very weak. I'm sorry."

"Why do you keep apologizing for things that are not your fault?" she demanded, with a hint of her old temper in her voice, of the old Gwen who had always possessed the courage to speak her mind on behalf of justice, and fairness, even when she had felt it was not her place to do so. It gladdened Merlin's sorry heart to hear her speak like that, but it didn't lighten the burden of guilt that rested upon his narrow shoulders, whatever Gaius might say. Aloud, he said, "Because maybe some of them are."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Merlin –," she began, but at that moment Gaius reappeared in the still open door, clearing his throat with a loud and obviously counterfeit noise that made Merlin feel sure the physician had heard every word of their exchange. "Pardon me, but will you please spare my old heart from stopping and come with me now, Merlin? You really shouldn't be standing up after the kind of fit you just had. I need to examine you thoroughly. I should have done so yesterday, only it was imperative to let you sleep as much as possible, but I'm not going to neglect this any longer."

Gwen straightened, snapping into queen mode. "Of course, Gaius. I've kept him long enough, and you too. A healer's work doesn't stop, not even for the death of a king. Go now – I will see you both two hours after the midday meal."

The physician's kind eyes rested on hers as he said, "Sir Leon bade me to come and escort you when it's time, and I daresay it's fitting."

"It is," the Queen agreed, "thank you, Gaius."

He stepped up to her and raised his hand to stroke her cheek clumsily. It was icy cold. "You're doing admirably, child, but don't overexert yourself. You don't have to put on a brave show. No one will blame you for showing your grief."

She adjusted a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I know. I know. But I can't afford to appear weak right now – I must show strength, for Camelot. That's what Arthur would have done, and I owe it to him."

Gaius bowed again. "Indeed. And now please excuse us." With that he grabbed Merlin's arm and dragged him outside.

As soon as the heavy wooden door was closed and the guards were out of earshot, both men stopped, facing each other.

"I trust you didn't tell her about that crazy idea of yours?" the physician asked urgently.

Merlin shook his head impatiently. "No, although maybe I should have, but that's not important now. Gaius, when I fell from the chair –"

" – that wasn't low blood pressure, was it?" Gaius finished.

"No – or maybe it was also that – I don't know – " He shook his shiny black head again, trying to clear it, "You know when you heard me scream in my bed the other day? That was the same thing. Only I didn't recognize it then."

"What _thing?_ What are you talking about?" Gaius asked, eyebrow cocked, his turn to be impatient now.

"It was a call! I was called in the dragon tongue –"

"By Kilgharrah?!" the physician interrupted.

Another shake of the head. "No. I know his voice like I know my own, it wasn't him. Besides, it never hurt when he called me."

"And did it hurt now?"

The warlock nodded excitedly. "Yes! It was as if my head was being split in half! And I'm not sure I really heard words, although I could recognize my name, but it could also have been an image of myself, I can't tell. The voice was – distorted, somehow, and rusty, layered with a kind of – screeching, a dissonance, as if it wasn't used to speaking, and as if the mind behind the voice was in terrible pain." He looked his mentor straight in the eye when he said, "It sounded…crippled, in a way."

Gaius stared at him, disbelief making way for wonder in his lined face. "You mean to say –"

Merlin nodded his head again in affirmation, a gleam of triumph in his electric blue eyes, feeling that this was the first solid clue to the riddle inside his head, the first fact to support his crazy hope that all might be not over yet.

"Yes," he breathed. "Aithusa."

TO BE CONTINUED


	9. Chapter 9 - The Tears of a Dragon

_A/N: Dear reviewers, thank you so much, particularly those of you who take the time to review more than once. You are truly amazing. It's a treat to see you get that involved in this story, I love that! TeganL74: thanks for your wonderful feedback! Do you happen to live inside my head?! I had hoped to get it across exactly like that! It is my belief that this view of magic is at the heart of every successful fantasy story: the true magic isn't found in spells and enchantments, but in the courage and love that the characters find in their hearts, even in the face of the most hopeless danger – like Mordred said: "The love that binds us is stronger than the power we wield." I _was_ worried that Gaius came over too callous, but then that's really how he is. Too scientifically detached for his own good sometimes, but then he has got Merlin, hasn't he? In any case, writing his monologues is such fun! I always long to make such speeches in real life but occasions are rare, alas! ;) Penelope-Jane-Avalon: thanks a lot to you too! I do hope the story picks up now, but I have to admit it's exploring the characters' feelings what I enjoy first and foremost. - I hope this chapter isn't too lengthy. I don't know about you, but I always wondered how it came about that Aithusa ended up with Morgana, so this is my take on it. One thing: I know Aithusa's gender isn't specified in the series, but to me she is so self-evidently female that I can't think of her in any other way, so you just have to take my word for this now: Aithusa is a girl : ) Enjoy!_

Chapter 9 – The Tears of a Dragon

"Merlin, I beg you! Can't you at least wait until after the ceremony?" Gaius demanded as he watched his ward feverishly stuff rather random items – among them bread and cheese from the little pantry, a large bottle labelled _Essence of Dittany_ and a smaller one with lavender oil, a flint stone, spare socks, bandages and a blue scarf – into the worn leather shoulder bag that had accompanied him on so many hunting trips and quests with Arthur. "I understand that you want to search for the dragon, but what will poor Gwen think? And people will talk if you're not present. The members of the court might know that you provided his true burial rites at the lake of Avalon, but it's not common knowledge yet. They are bound to see it as disrespectful."

The sun had already passed its zenith and was sending warm, golden rays into the court physician's quarters, highlighting hundreds of gossamer dust particles floating around in a cheerful choreography that belied the afternoon's solemn purpose, but was perfectly in keeping with the Merlin's elated state of mind. He stopped packing for a moment and looked up, smiling reassuringly at his mentor. "I don't care about the gossip, and I don't intend to leave Gwen in the dark about this. I'll stop by her rooms and explain about this before I leave. – Have you got a spare water skin? I think I lost mine." He went over to the small cupboard that held Gaius' meager supply of dishes and cooking gear to survey its contents.

The old physician folded his hands in front of his chest in an effort to remain calm. "You want to inform Gwen? Do you think that wise?"

Merlin gave him a sidelong glance, still rummaging through the tableware. "What can happen? She knows I'm a sorcerer, and Aithusa's existence isn't a secret either."

"Exactly!" Gaius retorted. "It's not! Everyone knows she has been fighting on Morgana's side. How do you expect people to react if her pet dragon is seen flying her rounds above Camelot? It will possibly cause an uproar, and it could be downright dangerous for the poor creature!"

"That's why I'm not summoning her _here_. The clearing below the town would have been perfect, but it's too much of a risk and waiting until it's dark might be too late. I get the feeling that it's urgent, so I'm planning to ride to the meadow in front of the old charcoal-maker's hut in the forest of Glaestig. Nobody has dared to live there since the Dorocha attacked; it's still deserted and will be perfectly safe. Now could you please tell me where you hid the water skins?" Merlin answered calmly, completely unperturbed by the old man's obvious apprehension.

The physician sighed, then walked to the cupboard and reached into it past Merlin without looking, removing a worn but well-tended water skin, and handed it to the younger man, who snatched it from him happily, added it to the supplies he had already packed and closed the bag. "You can't talk me out of this, Gaius", he said, looking earnestly at his ageing friend, "so please stop trying. I'm a _dragonlord_, remember? You know as well as I that I'm duty-bound to protect the dragon race, and it seems Aithusa is the last of her kind now. I still have a responsibility towards her, which I have hitherto neglected. The fact that her allegiance was with Morgana doesn't change that. She never called me before, and it seems to be painful for her, so it must be important. For all we know, she may be hurt, or worse. I – I can't fail her."

He didn't add _like I did Arthur_, but there was no need to. The words were drifting around in the room, as plainly visible as the dancing dust. Gaius sighed again and folded his hands in front of his chest. "Well, this would explain why you're ransacking my kitchen, and what is worse, my medicine shelves. But I'm glad that apparently you _did_ think this through to a certain extent, and if you feel that time is of the essence…"

"I _know _it is!" Merlin cut in with a hint of impatience.

"…then I can see why you have to act fast", the physician went on, holding up his hand. "But I still think it would be better if you kept this…enterprise secret, at least for now. I can't see what can be gained by worrying Gwen with all this, at this trying time. What difference could it possibly make?"

Merlin lifted his bag from the table and hung it over his right shoulder by its strap before he turned to Gaius and flashed him his old open, goofy smile. "Only the difference between truth and lie, Gaius. Come – we did it your way for years and I'm sure that was for the best, saving me from burning at the stake and all that, but it also made us end up in this muddle, with Arthur dead, and Elyan dead, and Gwaine dead and – well, this whole mess. Now let's do it my way for a bit, and see how that works, alright?"

The old man didn't look convinced, but he was appeased. "Agreed," he said and hesitated for a moment, as if pondering something. Then he clapped the warlock lightly on his narrow back. "Tell you what, Merlin, leave Gwen to me," he told him, suddenly infected by the young man's optimism, "I will bring her into the picture. You're right; it's time I reacquainted myself with the merits of truthfulness and operating in the open. Here," he walked over to the rows of jars, pitchers, and tins that lined the drug shelf and dug out two items from their midst – a glass flask filled with a drab tawny fluid and a large, round wooden pot – "extract of willow bark mixed into an infusion of witch hazel leaves, and some calendula ointment. They work wonders on infected scales – if the white dragon is injured, and _if_ it really was her you heard."

Merlin accepted the remedies with a grateful nod and reached out to touch Gaius' shoulder, squeezing it briefly in reassurance. "It was her. I don't know for certain if she's hurt, but I'd rather be prepared. Thanks, Gaius. Are you really sure you can deal with Gwen?"

The physician chuckled. "My dear boy, I have known her since she was a toddler with her face blackened from playing in her father's workshop. I can handle her, don't worry, and I'll come up with a good official excuse for your absence."

"Good." Merlin stowed the additional medicine in his bag and adjusted it on his shoulder. "I'm off, then. It's a two-hour ride at best, so don't expect me back before nightfall." He embraced his guardian, who patted him on the back again with awkward tenderness, and then walked to the door. Opening it, he turned around once more and pointed at Gaius with his index finger in mock instruction, his bright blue eyes twinkling. "Whatever you tell them, make sure it doesn't involve the _tavern_. Time to quench that myth once and for all!"

Gaius didn't laugh, though, only stared at him suggestively with raised eyebrows, and gave back, "As long as you promise me that you're not only doing this because you hope to uncover information as how to orchestrate our dead king's alleged return."

The young warlock put on an indignant expression and shook his jet-black head emphatically. "Of course not! You know me – when did I ever embark on a wild-goose chase like that? – I must get going!" he added hurriedly, acutely aware, from painful experience, that even mild Gaius could only be pushed so far, and disappeared around the corner just as his mentor called out "Good luck, Merlin!" after him.

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Mere minutes later, the warlock's wiry shape could have been seen galloping down the city road at break-neck speed – if anybody had been looking. As the day had been declared an official day of mourning, the streets were largely deserted and most folks staying indoors, dressed in their best attire and quietly waiting to bid their King his last farewell. The courtyard, however, had been teeming with activity, but Merlin had known to avoid it, leading the horse the stable-boy had handed him (a young and fast gelding that had the additional advantage of a docile nature, a quality Merlin greatly appreciated) to one of the infrequently used side gates instead, opening it with a quick flash of his eyes, and left Camelot without any hindrance or enquiring looks. When the rich green foliage and muted golden light of the forest surrounded him, he drew in the reins for a moment, breathing in deeply. It was a huge relief to be back out in the woods after the stuffiness of the castle and the many covert glances that been following him ever since his return from Avalon, and the birdsong in his ears and the pleasantly cool air against his face made him feel truly alive again, even as he ached for the countless carefree times he had ridden here next to Arthur, laughing and bantering with him as if they would both live forever.

How he cherished those moments now! Although Arthur had been treating him more and more openly like a friend rather than only a servant during the last couple of years, he had scarcely ever called him friend to his face. As brilliant as Arthur had been at giving motivational speeches in times of despair, when it came to expressing his feelings, he had been utterly lost, and gladly resorted to his customary, less demanding means of showing his regard for Merlin – slapping him on the back of his head, in general, scolding him good-naturedly for his supposed clumsiness, or inciting the knights to practical jokes at his expense. Which had, in the main, been fine with his manservant, but now and then a tiny, selfish part of him, a hollow part that couldn't be filled either by his mother's love, or Gaius' fatherly fondness, or the memory of his actual father, Balinor, and not even by the tender love he still kept in his heart for Freya, had yearned for more straightforward demonstrations of friendship – not necessarily a _hug_, but a word of praise for a change, a friendly clap on the back, anything that clearly spelled out _you're my friend, I care for you a great deal_. Even back then, he had known it was foolish to feel thus. Arthur Pendragon might have been a much better man than his father Uther, but just like him, he had kept his innermost emotions to himself and opened up only when it was absolutely a matter of life and death. A long-ago conversation echoed through his head…

_You're not going to die, Merlin. Don't be such a coward._

_If I do die, will you call me a hero?_

_Probably._

_But whilst I'm still alive, I'm a coward?_

_That's the way these things work, I'm afraid. You get the glory when you're not around to appreciate it._

_Well...unless you're the king._

_Come on, it's got to have some advantages._

_You have a very good servant._

_You're right. I do. A servant who's extremely brave. And incredibly loyal, to be honest. Not at all cowardly._

Even though Merlin had been very badly injured at that time (or maybe precisely because of his injuries), this dialogue had etched itself into his memory, deeply and indelibly, so rare had it been for Arthur to drop the pretense and meet him face to face, as an equal. But as much as he treasured the incidence, and Arthur's kind, honest words, he now felt that would gladly trade them for months of bad kingly temper and verbal abuse, if only he could be with Arthur again, at his side, where he belonged, protecting him, because it was his destiny, but also because the bond they had shared was the most precious thing in the world to him. What was it Gaius had said?

_He valued your friendship, not because of your magic, but because of those other mysterious powers you possess so abundantly: loyalty; courage; compassion; determination; and wisdom, too. In short, everything that makes you the man you are. He recognized you, without knowing your secret, just as you were able to look past all that swaggering bravado he hid behind, and recognize his kind and brave heart, and his sense of justice, and his compassionate soul._

Merlin felt a hot, hard ball of anger building inside him, anger at himself. It throbbed so unpleasantly in his stomach that he clicked his tongue to make his horse move on, hoping that the exertion of riding would distract him, but the gelding's brisk trot did nothing to slow down his racing thoughts. So often had he been lying awake on his cot at night, staring at the unflustered wooden ceiling, imagining himself revealing his magic to Arthur, meditating about the best (and least painful) way to disclose the fact that he was a sorcerer, when all the time that had never been the true issue. Gaius was right! Arthur had liked him and trusted him not because of the accomplishments he did or did not possess – not for his magic (about which he knew nothing), nor for his skills as a servant (which weren't at all impressive, if was honest), but for the _person_ he was. His character, or nature, or whatever it was called. And Merlin had spurned that trust, trampled on it, in fact, because he, in turn, hadn't been able to give Arthur all the credit he deserved. His mother had seen that long before he did. He remembered what she had said to him long ago back in Ealdor, when Arthur had tried to make a decent army out of a bunch of scared and badly armed villagers.

_He must care for you a great deal._

_Arthur'd do the same for any village. That's just the way he is._

_It's more than that. He's here for you!_

_I'm just his servant._

_Give him more credit than that. He likes you!_

He sighed, suddenly wishing he could be a small boy again, sitting on his mother's lap and being comforted by her soft endearments. He had trusted Arthur with his life, true, but not with his secret. What worth did such trust have, when it came down to it? _You lied to me all this time._ _I thought I knew you_. That was what had bothered Arthur as he was trying to process Merlin's revelation. Not Merlin being a sorcerer; but Merlin betraying his trust. It all came down to that: trust. Trust had been the key all along, and he had held it in his hands all awhile and not made use of it! Keeping his magic secret to avoid burning at the stake was one thing, but from very early on in his friendship with the Prince of Camelot he had intuitively felt (and chosen to ignore, which was the easier path) that Arthur wouldn't be as quick as his father to dismiss magic as just evil, at least not if it belonged to a friend who had time and again proven his loyalty and devotion. Why, then, had he not spoken? _Because I was ashamed, _he admitted to himself. _With every day that passed, our friendship grew, but so did my deception, until it felt it all but impossible to face him and tell him that I had lied to him since the day we met. And now that he has forgiven me and seen me as I truly am, I would gladly go back to being his idiot servant, if I could only see him smile at me again._ Well, he would redeem himself. Finding out what Aithusa wanted from him was the first step towards that, he knew it.

Merlin pulled at the reins until his horse slowed down, and surveyed the path in front of him. He had made good way, having kept up a more reckless pace than he was normally comfortable with, and was already deep in the Forest of Glaestig. The charcoal-makers hut and the clearing he was looking for should be right behind the group of large oaks that were visible just beyond the next bend. Pressing his thighs gently into his animal's sides, he rode on in a slower, cautious trot, carefully scanning the surroundings for signs of human presence. It would not do to ride all the way out here only to find too late that there had been onlookers when he shouted strange words, plainly carrying magic, to summon a bona fide _dragon._

When he reached the familiar site, he dismounted and led the gelding to the back of the little hut (that sadly but unsurprisingly was in a rather greater state of disrepair than when he had last been here, disguised as Dragoon the Great), where the former kitchen garden had taken on the appearance of a small meadow, with long, lush grass and a large variety of wildflowers. He tethered the animal to the remnants of a low wooden fence and left it to graze, hoping it wouldn't get skittish there in case he was successful in summoning Aithusa, and did a quick search of the house and grounds to make sure he really was alone.

When he had finally ascertained his privacy, he walked slowly into the middle of the clearing. It was now or never. Inhaling deeply, he straightened, gazed skywards and opened his mouth to intone the ancient command, his voice resonating with the singular authority of the dragonlords, and layered with the peculiar modulations of the age-old dragon tongue.

"_**O drakon, eao maleros, sophonous phtengomai teide anadikeo**_!"

He stood without moving and waited, his blue eyes searching the equally blue, cloudless sky. Nothing happened.

Spreading his arms wide, he closed his eyes to conjure an image of Aithusa before his mind's eye, and tried a different summons.

"_**O drakon, e mala soiphtengomai ta tesd' hup anangkes!"**_

He waited for what seemed a long time. Again, nothing. Merlin opened his eyes and let out his breath in disappointment. "Come on," he muttered, "what are you waiting for? I know you're out there. You were the one who wanted to chat, not me, after all." He chuckled half-heartedly at his own lame quip, thinking fleetingly that dragons and sarcasm probably didn't mix all that well, when he suddenly felt a subtle change in the atmosphere, like tiny perturbances in the air that touched his skin. Only a moment later, he heard the already familiar distorted caterwauling, howling his name. _Merrrrrlinnnnnn!_ He raised his head to the sky again and had just made out the pale, crooked reptilian form approaching in a dizzying pattern of dives and meanderings, when his head exploded in pain. _Here I go again,_ he thought resignedly, feeling incredibly idiotic, before his vision went black and he dropped to the ground, out cold.

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The first thing to reach his senses when he finally recovered them was a sharp pain that seemed to originate on many different spots all over his backside – stones, apparently, on which he had been lying. He groaned, opening his eyes not to the open sky, as he had expected, but to a slate-coloured, stony ceiling, hanging from which were a multitude of pearly white structures in all sizes, glittering with a restrained sheen in the feeble light that had no visible source, but seemed to radiate from the stones themselves.

Merlin sat up with a jolt, recognizing the place at once – small wonder, given that he had been here only two days ago. _I'm in the Crystal Cave! How did I get here?_

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, gingerly fingering the back of his head, which had obviously hit the ground rather hard when he passed out. He let his gaze wander through the cave until it found the white dragon. She was resting on a large round piece of crystal, a stone's throw away from him, her twisted limbs folded awkwardly under her spindly body, the wings hanging down her sides at odd angles. She eyed him nervously, in evident apprehension, but remained perfectly still, just watching him with large oval eyes that appeared almost black in the half-light and were impossible to read.

The young dragonlord remained seated, too, not wanting to scare her. He returned her look almost as cautiously, readying himself in case he had to utter a protective dragon tongue command, and said in a carefully neutral voice, "Aithusa. I'm glad to see you again."

The dragon slowly bent her long neck in acknowledgement of his greeting.

"So it was really you who called me?" Merlin asked her.

The head went down again in conformation, still focused on the warlock.

"Why are we in her? Did you carry me all the way?" he went on.

She stared at him.

"You're still not able to talk." Merlin stated.

She moved her head from one side to the other with care. He nodded, having suspected as much. "But how were you able to call me, if you can't speak?"

Aithusa flapped her wings weakly and cocked her head, her eyes becoming even wider than before in what clearly was a nonplussed look, as if to say that she could not explain that either.

Her obvious bewilderment looked so droll in her scaly face that Merlin couldn't help smiling at her. It was easy to forget that this creature, who had wreaked such havoc on the battlefield at Camlann, in human terms was little more than a toddler. "Well, I don't know _how_ you did it," he said genially, "but you'd better not do it again. Your calls seem to have a rather, um, _extreme _effect on me. We can't have me kiss the dust every time I try to talk to you, now can we?"

The young dragon kept staring at him, wide-eyed but alertly, swishing her long tail in impatience, willing him to proceed to the matter at hand, and naturally the warlock obliged.

"The question is, how _do_ we talk? I mean, it's great that you seem to understand me, that really helps, but this is going to be a pretty one-sided conversation if there's no way can communicate with me, and I don't suppose you're a whiz at sign-language. No offense, of course, how could you be with your paws – um, I mean, I'm no good at sign language either. Arthur always said – " He stopped, realizing he was babbling, an action he always resorted to when he was nervous, and that Arthur's most likely reaction to this would have been a shove and the words _Shut up, Merlin!_ Instead, a sharp hiss echoed through the wide space of the cavern. Aithusa flapped her wings again, only with more force this time, to balance herself as she got on her feet, and straightened to her full height, which, though still rather small for a dragon – if the mighty Kilgharrah's size was something to judge from – was impressive enough for Merlin, who watched her with slight unease.

She lowered her head, surveying the ground, before she positioned herself in front of a particularly clear and smooth piece of crystal, rectangular in shape and roughly the size of a shield, that poked out of the cave's rocky ground right next to the spot occupied by Merlin. She unlocked her large jaws as if to breath fire, but before the warlock could shout a defensive spell, a strange golden cloud that seemingly consisted of hundreds of tiny metallic sparks had left her snout and enveloped the crystal, coating it with a fine, dewy layer of magical dust. Merlin looked on in fascination, remembering the time when Kilgharrah had breathed a similar substance on himself to gift him the power to save the deadly ill Morgana. His heartbeat quickened. Was this a healing spell, too? But why did she breathe on that crystal, instead of him?

When the last of the golden sparks had settled on the crystal's smooth surface, the young dragon turned slowly around, hobbling on her twisted, unevenly grown legs to face him, and looked pointedly back to the magically enhanced piece of translucent rock.

Taking the hint, Merlin supported himself on his arms and slipped forwards over the ground until he was seated directly in front of the rock. His heart now thumping in his chest like a drum, he looked at Aithusa, who was reclining on all fours now, her too-thin head between her meager front legs, and regarded him with something that was not quite encouragement, though not threat either. He hadn't forgotten that only two days ago this pitiful beast had answered Morgana's commands, but his keen instinct told him that this was no trickery, that he had nothing to fear from this creature, who struck him to be just as lost a wanderer in a lonely new world as he himself was. _Trust is the key,_ he muttered to himself, drawing a deep breath, and turned his eyes towards the clear crystal.

At once, the walls of the cave faded away. A soft breeze caressed his hot cheeks, gently ruffling the sweaty locks of hair that fell to his brow. The space above his head didn't feel enclosed and confined anymore, but wide and open. His vision first clouded, then returned as clear as before, no, clearer even, painfully sharp, and the very air seemed to shimmer, every little movement – of tiny leaves on trees, of miniature insects scuttling away – discernible in great detail, without the usual, slightly blurred quality that was part of his perception. He was seeing with a dragon's eyes.

_Voices. After so many years of silence, and soundless sleep, there are suddenly voices, strange but oh, so familiar, too! She has been waiting for decades, for centuries, curled up in the cool, dry chamber that is her egg, to hear a voice like this. She is trembling with anticipation, and already the voice is calling out to her, summoning her out of her shell and into the world with the powerful incantation that is her name: _Aithusa!

_She feels the shell crack and slowly lifts her long, pointy head out of the egg, twinkling into the soft light of a young moon. She gazes up at the one who summoned her, drinking in his image. He is young like her, though no hatchling, and he laughs with wonder and delight and drops of water in his eyes as he looks down to her, watching her spread her blindingly white wings for the very first time. His voice is high and sweet. He thinks her beautiful, she can see that, and so, in her own mind, she comes to see herself as beautiful too. His soul is her brother, and hers his sister, and she desires only to be with him, and to have him show her what this world is he has called her into. _

_Then she hears the other voice again. It belongs to an elder one of her race, he is speaking to the young dragonlord, and it promises that her birth bodes well for Albion. She feels a pleasant warmth rise in the middle of her body. She is special. Her birth bodes well, as is fitting for one of her kind. She is a _dragon_. Now the ancient one unfolds his wings and rises into the air. His voice calls out to her inside her mind, telling her to come with him. Stunned, and unable to resist, she moves her little wings too, gasping as she takes off the ground. The sensation of flying is intoxicating, something she has been waiting to experience for hundreds of years, but as she trails off in the elder one's wake she turns her head back in confusion, to the small, slim human figure that is still standing at the edge of the clearing where she has hatched, watching them depart. She cringes from a heavy, icy tugging in her chest, and thus she learns, on the very day of her hatching, that in life, there is pain._

_Snow-capped mountains surround her now, stony and barren, a safe hiding-place for her and the elder one, Kilgharrah, who is trying to raise her. He looks at her, displeased again with her still clumsy use of magic and her inability, as yet, to master spoken language. His amber eyes are fiery, and his booming voice is scolding her. Although he is pleased that she exists, and means her well, she is only too aware that her presence exhausts him. Already he is old, his cycle nearly completed, and never before in his long life has he been required to be the sole carer to a young dragon. He doesn't even try to hide his impatience from her. He shouts at her and calls her names when her inexperience can't keep up with his superior skills, and at night, when she sneaks up on him and attempts to curl herself up between the folds of his thick tail, he grunts and moves away from her, unused to such intimacy after the long years of his captivity in the caverns beneath Camelot. She knows that she is a failure, and that must be the reason why she is so miserable all the time, but in truth she is yearning for a more lenient and wiser guidance and a kind voice of sympathy._

_One day, she notices the proximity of another magical being that is different from her guardian and herself. It is in apparent pain, sending out silent pleas for help. Sensing a kindred spirit that, just like herself, is lonely and in distress, she waits until the great dragon is taking one of his more and more frequent naps and flies off to see who it is, finding the beautiful human woman with long dark hair, badly wounded, lying on the ground with her long-lashed eyes closed, unmoving. Solely by instinct, drawn in by the emanations of despair as well as power that appear to be oozing out of the woman's body, she lands beside her to open her small white snout and breathes a cloud of healing magic onto the silent form, and flies away again, the wretchedness in her heart making room for a small bubble of pride, and she knows now that she is not wholly useless._

_On her return, her guardian questions her with his mind's voice, and when he learns what she has done, recognizing the human from the image in her head, his wrath is terrible to behold. He calls the woman a witch, and curses his young charge for having helped his enemy. He calls her traitor, and a disgrace to their noble race, and commands her to leave him and never to return again._

_Shocked and utterly bewildered, she obeys, taking off from their den high up in the mountains, gliding blindly across the skies without heeding where the whirling currents are bearing her, intent only on creating as great a distance as possible between herself and the ancient one who had spurned her so cruelly. After many days of drifting through lonely countryside that is strange to her, feeling more lost than ever, she finally happens upon the now familiar magical aura of the wounded girl she has healed. Not knowing where else to turn, she joins her, and the girl, a sorceress, seems overjoyed to have her as companion. She is knowledgeable in the lore of dragons, having been trained a High Priestess of the Old Religion. The Lady Morgana is not able to hear her thoughts, though she does succeed in discerning her name eventually, but nevertheless, they form a close bond, and for a time, Aithusa is truly happy, growing and learning. She swears allegiance to the woman she soon comes to regard as her mother and sister both. But, alas, life remains true to what she has found it to be so far, and so her happiness does not last for long. Both her new guardian and herself are captured by a cruel warrior who keeps them in a deep, dirty pit for many moons and tortures them; the greatest torture, however, being the pit itself, which constraints the growing of her limbs, causing her body to become twisted and crippled, and a source of eternal pain._

_Aithusa's young mind is being crippled, too. She has lost all trust in mind, and the power of speech eludes her still. She doesn't know herself if she really can't produce the sounds, or if her pain has robbed her of the will to do so, but it doesn't matter, what matters is that she does not speak. _

_If imprisonment is torture for the her, it is hell for her friend. Her spirit is growing darker and darker, until only the one thought possesses her body and soul: to kill King Arthur Pendragon and everyone belonging to him, and make the kingdom of Camelot her own. During the many hours they lie awake in hunger and pain, she describes her plans of revenge in ghastly words, which do not help to inspire the brighter and more hopeful thoughts a young dragon needs to grow up the free and proud creature dragons are meant to be. For Aithusa, everything is darkness now._

_When they finally escape, she follows the Lady Morgana as the only beacon she knows, and does her bidding in all things, lending her fiery breath to her when required, although even then she begins to have her doubts about her single-minded mistress. All that time, she has never forgotten the young dragonlord's voice and face as he called her forth into the world, and she sees that all her former yearning was truly for him, so is shocked beyond compare as she meets him, of all people, deep under the castle that is their home now, and realizes he is her Lady's enemy. Bewildered, and unable to detach herself from Morgana Pendragon, to whom she is bound body and soul not only by her vow but by ancient spells the witch has laid upon her unbeknownst to her at first, she is forced to fight twice against the dragonlord – whom she recognizes, the second time, in spite of his disguise, as his soul is made from the very fabric as is her own. The moment he uses his power over her at the place they call Camlann comes as nothing more than a huge relief. She turns her back on them all and leaves the battlefield, glad she doesn't have to kill him, and desires only to find a quiet spot where she can lay down and fade, first into oblivion, and then into nonexistence._

_But not even that humble wish is granted her. She hears the young dragonlord utter a desperate summons, and senses the coming of her former guardian, but also his weakness and imminent death. She arrives almost at the same time as Kilgharrah, hiding in the trees behind the place where the dragonlord's friend, the young king, has died, died of the steel her own fire has enhanced. She follows Kilgharrah to the lake of Avalon and listens to his final words for the young warlock, and learns that his name is _Merlin_. As she watches him, and his pain, the desperate grief that is her doing, she can't bear the guilt and anguish that washes over her, and leaves the shores of the lake in search of Kilgharrah. She finds him, dying, exhausted from the exertion of carrying the king and his sorcerer to the lake, and lands beside him to beg his forgiveness for the foolish choices she has made. He smiles at her one last time, and tells her there is a way to right the wrong she has caused: she must go to Merlin and tell him her story, their story, so he can understand. He says that he doesn't need to forgive her, that he is the one in need of forgiveness, and that she is the last of their kind now, and a worthy descendant of the mighty dragons of old. With that, his old eyes turn dark, and she rests her white head on his golden one as a hot river of amber tears is streaming down her nose, and her tormented body is heaving violently while she weeps and weeps for all what might have been, and is now lost forever._

Loud sobs still sounded in Merlin's ears as the crystal surface he had been staring faded, not into empty blackness like Kilgharrah's dying eyes, but into unblemished white, and he glided out of the vision with a jolt. He realized that Aithusa, who was lying on all fours just like before, was really weeping now, her body riddled by violent sobs just like it had been in the story she had shown him. Feeling the sticky moisture of his own salty tears on his face, his heart bled for her. She was so young yet, to be caught up in such great destiny – just like himself, he thought with a silent salute to Kilgharrah, yet another dead friend, as it had turned out. The idea that he really never was to see the great dragon again saddened him more than he would have found possible. He also was very touched by the affection for himself the smaller dragon preserved in her heart still, and so he walked to her and got down on his knees, looking into her eyes and touching the top of her head in a gesture of comfort.

"I'm truly sorry for what you went through," he said in a strangely old voice that carried the regret of many lifetimes. "It wasn't your fault, you just got in the line of events that had been foretold since the beginning of time. We all did. There's nothing to forgive. Kilgharrah is certainly to blame, but so am I. I'm supposed to be a dragonlord, but in truth I know so little about dragons, and their life. I should have kept you with me. Shhhhhhh," he said soothingly as her sobs grow louder again, placing his hand over what in humans was a cheek, "it's alright. It's alright. Don't cry anymore, Aithusa." The dragon, however, raised her head a small way until one of her eyes hovered over his slender hand, and let a large tear fall directly upon it. Merlin gasped: the pale white skin of his hand was slowly turning golden where the tear had dampened it, fading immediately again, but not before a warm, sweet sensation of comfort was spreading from it throughout his body, magical comfort like the one he had used on Gwen, but much more effortless and instinctive, soothing the hurt of his loss with a golden balm. He beamed at her. " That's …extraordinary!"

The dragon didn't smile back, but stared at his hand and then faced him imploringly. An image formed in his mind, of a bucket, or a pitcher, or maybe it was – "Of course!" He cried out suddenly. "I'm so stupid – wait – " he stuttered, scanning the ground near him frantically until he spotted his leather bag. He rummaged around in it, extracted the small flask of lavender oil, uncorked it, and dumped its contents unceremoniously onto the floor. Rushing back to Aithusa, who nodded emphatically, he held the flask under one of her eyes, letting the large, round tears roll into it, the young dragon accommodating him by holding herself perfectly still, till at last the flask was full to the brim, and the weeping ceased.

The warlock retrieved the little bottle's cork stopper and placed it firmly into its neck again, sealing it tightly with a flash of magic for good measure. Remembering how he had could almost have lost another magical gift that had been stored in the glass bottle given to him by the Fisher King, he fished his spare neckerchief out of the bag and carefully wrapped the flask into it, placed it lovingly into the bag. "You can't possibly tell me what these are for, can you? It's rather tiring always to work such things out by myself, and my teacher, Gaius, isn't as quick as he used to be." He smiled at her again. "In a way, he's just like Kilgharrah, but he is the most loving foster father in the world. I think you'd like him."

She stared at him, her face betraying her longing, then signaled to him to look into the crystal again. As soon as he did so, an image appeared on its surface, not clear anymore, but clouded and blurred, clearly not a scene watched by Aithusa, but the echo of another's memory. It was a face so familiar that Merlin could have traced its features with his eyes closed: the face of a very young Prince Arthur as it had been on the day he had met him, grinning arrogantly at him with twinkling eyes.

_Prat,_ Merlin thought fondly, and turned to Aithusa. "Why are you showing me this?" he asked her, but with a wave of her head she willed him to keep looking, which he did grudgingly. "All right, but better tell me what this –" He broke off as a quick succession of images flashes over the crystal's smooth surface.

_Arthur made Crown Prince; Arthur crowned King; Arthur marrying Guinevere; Arthur stabbed by Mordred's blade; then Arthur dead in Merlin's arms, Arthur on the boat. _

Then, like a wave bearing him up high in triumph, images he hasn't seen before, that make him go hot and cold at the same time, sending shivers of excitement all over the length of hid body.

_Arthur being hailed by his people; Merlin richly dressed sitting on Arthur's side at the round table, Arthur in the prime of his years; Arthur and Guinevere with their children; Merlin and Arthur and Guinevere, all older, and an ancient frail Gaius dining together in the hall, laughing with each other; Arthur and Merlin standing in front of a burning pyre, Arthur's arm round Merlin's shoulder as they weep together; Merlin and Arthur riding companionably through the lush green of a forest; the two of them making camp, sitting at the fire, facing one another and deep in conversation, Merlin giving Arthur a friendly shove and Arthur grinning at him; Merlin openly using magic while they chat cheerily, riding towards Camelot with its beautiful towers already visible from afar._

_Now the Shidhe are gathered on the shores of Lake Avalon. The Sidhe Lord with his cruel face, and then himself bowing to him, apparently asking something. Everything is drenched into an eerie bluish light. Then darkness._

Merlin's heart hammered against his ribcase, watching the crystal images fade again. _I knew it. I knew it. He's not dead. He can live. He can come back. There's still hope. I can save him I can save him I can save him he's alive he's not dead I will see him again I can find him I can help him I can't lose him I won't lose him he's my friend he'll be back ARTHUR IS NOT DEAD!_

He jumped to his feet, unable to remain still, and turned towards Aithusa. "How do I –"

He stopped. The dragon was gone. He could just see her tail disappear around the corner of the passage leading to the cave's mouth. He grabbed his bag and went after her. "Wait!" he hollered. "Please tell me what I must do to bring him back! Is it your tears?"

But of course, she was silent. As soon as they both were outside, she lowered herself down in the middle of the path where she could stretch her wings and threw him a look over her shoulder that indicated he was to mount her.

He hesitated, wondering if she could really support his weight, so worn and thin was her appearance, even though she had grown considerably, but then he recalled that she had brought him here in the first place, so he slung the strap of his bag securely across his shoulder and proceeded to climb upon her bony back, . She actually rolled her eyes at him with an expression that clearly said _I've had far worse than such a scrawny boy like you_, before she looking ahead and rising from the ground and over the treetops with a few strong beats of her wings. Merlin chuckled. "Only as far as Glaestig, please, the place I called you, alright? My horse is waiting for me there. Or I hope it is."

There was no reply, only the wind howling in his ears, but only a short while later he could see the roof of the small abandoned dwelling drawing near. Aithusa alighted on the clearing in an almost graceful perch Merlin could only admire, given her crooked build. She made herself lie flat against the ground so the young man could slip down easily. He opened his mouth to ask a last question – how he could bring her vision to pass – but even before he had begun to speak she bowed low before him, and he knew from his dealings with Kilgharrah that his audience was over, and apart from that she couldn't talk to him anyway.

"Goodbye, Aithusa, " he said instead with a bow of his own. "We'll meet again, I can feel it."

Her large blue eyes rested on him for another moment. Then, with a mighty jerk, she had taken off again and vanished quickly into the soft grey dusk that had begun to fall during their flight.

Merlin remained standing in the middle of the clearing for a few heartbeats, staring at the point she had last been visible. After a while, he chuckled again happily, allowing himself to let his quiet hope turn into tangible words, words he could say to Gaius and even to Gwen without seeming to have been parted from his senses, words that could lead to frantic searchings through old volumes, and eventually, to a proper plan. He had been right. Arthur was, somehow, still alive, and could, somehow, come back to him.

He walked briskly to the backside of the hut, where his horse was patiently standing in a wide circle of short grass, whinnying softly when it noticed him. Stroking the soft brown nose, he loosened the bridle and saddled the animal, with a promise to stop at the next stream for a drink of water, and munching on the bread and cheese he had brought, he rode off at as fast a pace as the well-rested gelding could manage, knowing that Gaius would already be worrying, and also would have a nice supper waiting for him.

TO BE CONTINUED


	10. Chapter 10 - The Raven Rises

_A/N: New followers, new favourites, new reviews! Thanks so much to you all for taking the time to comment or just to tell me you want to know what happens next! It's what I need! This update has taken far too long because I can only write late at night, and these last days I was simply too exhausted, so I played Merlin the Game instead on FB – I guess you will see that when you read the chapter ;) It's good to know you liked meeting Aithusa again. I would love to see fan art for the scene where Merlin comforts her! I'm no good at all at drawing so I'll stick to writing. Here I go – welcome someone who has been absent for far too long! :D – Hunith's Spirit_

Chapter 10 – The Raven Rises

'_**Have not your worships', replied Don Quixote, 'read the annals and histories of England, in which are **__**recorded the famous deeds of King Arthur, whom we in our popular Castilian invariably call King Artus, **__**with regard to whom it is an ancient tradition, and commonly received allover that kingdom of Great Britain, that this king did not die, but was changed by magic art into a raven, and that in process of time he is to re turn to reign and recover his kingdom and sceptre; for which reason it cannot be proved that from that time to this any Englishman ever killed a raven?'**_

_Don Quixote__, Part I, Section XIII._

Although the spot he has chosen affords him a splendid view not only over the main courtyard, but over the upper town as well, he feels rather ill at ease, and keeps turning his head around, looking out for danger. He isn't sure why he came here; to the west tower roof, watching the preparations for the ceremony that's about to begin seemed as good an idea as any, to while away the hours until Merlin returns to the city and he can set to work again, but now he's wishing that he had tried to overcome his inexplicable fear of the open land, and followed him. Hot shame fills his heart, because he has been afraid of distancing himself too far from the castle. True, it may have been dangerous for a creature as small as he is right now, but still he's ashamed. It's almost too much for his heart – such a pathetically small heart, but it's the one he has got right now and he's determined to make the most of it. It's not the first tight spot he's been in, after all, although he has to admit it's really tough this time. Imagine being forced to watch your own funeral! As his body is missing, it's not even an actual funeral but these silly rites where they burn an old cloak of his, a sword he may or may not have used; at least he doesn't recognize it from up here, and a shield. Not a dented one with a painted Pendragon crest from the armoury, which he _has _actually fought with, but a ridiculous ceremonial shield that has never seen battle, coated with gold and polished to a glistening sheen. Where's the point in burning that stuff? And watching his beloved standing stony-faced and proud before the people, presenting a brave front no matter what so they see she will make a good queen – that, while certainly not pointless, is plain heartbreaking to him. Not as heartbreaking, though, as Merlin's farewell to him. Imagine hovering over your own body while your stupid _git_ of a servant keeps blubbering away and you think, _this is it, it's over, and I never told him, I never told him what he really –_

He shifts his weight carefully onto his other spindly black leg. Merlin….just thinking the name fills him with longing. It's only been a couple of days, but it seems a lifetime to him, so separate is he now from all the people he loves, so removed from the goings-on of his kingdom. He's longing to be with them again, to partake in their human lives again, to be Arthur again, and be looked upon with Gwen's loving eyes and caressed by her tender hand, and to hear the cheers of his knights and his people. But most of all, he's longing to stand before Merlin and look him in the eye, openly, at last, as the equals they in truth always were. He wants to shake hands with him and ruffle his wiry dark hair, to hug him and – and _sob _and say thank you again, and again, and also to punch him hard in his face and call him a blundering, lying, dim-witted _idiot_ for being so reckless. What was the bloody fool thinking, a sorcerer, playing such a dangerous game of hide-and-seek right under Uther's nose?! He could have died, could have burnt at the stakes, be drowned, or fed to the crows for no other reason than this: that for all the dangers they have braved together, for all the adventures they went through side by side, and for all the laughter they have shared, the pigheaded moron still wouldn't trust him enough to let him in on his secret.

Yet, if he is honest – and it really doesn't make any sense not to be honest at this point, what with him having feathers and being thought dead and all that – so, if he is completely honest, it hasn't been that much of a surprise to learn of Merlin's…powers. There has always been something about him; he's been thinking that right from the start, when that pale, scrawny boy with those ludicrous ears sticking out from under his shock of inky hair was foolish enough to take him on in the market, in full knowledge of his, Arthur's, fighting skills. Or, so his private verdict even then, courageous enough. When the clumsy youth had saved him from the crazy witch's dagger a little while later, completely ignoring the danger he put himself in, he thought it had been a classic case of fortune favouring fools, but still, it was extremely brave. He may have been something of a…well, a _dollop head_ those days, but he was no idiot. He knew only too well, even then, how easy it is to act heroic if you have a hero's training under your belt, after all; but it takes much more courage than that to throw your life into the balance without so much as a chainmail to protect your neck. So despite the show of mild contempt he put on when his father decreed that Gaius' ward was to be the Prince's new servant, from that day onward he respected the strange boy who seemed so stupid in some respects, and so very knowledgeable, if not _wise_, even, in others.

He has the urge to smile as he thinks back. They were both so young then, and both, he realizes with a start, in dire need of a true friend. He had been pampered, and bored, but also more than a little op pressed by the burden of duty that he has been carrying since the day he was born – an explosive mixture – and as a consequence, started bullying those whose station prevented them from standing up to him. And Merlin – he had been a right country bumpkin with the laudable, if pretty naïve, conviction that it was his duty to try and fight against every case of injustice that crossed his path, even if it would get himself into trouble. And that's how it began, the unlikely friendship between the prince and his servant, with the realization that they were both prepared not to run away from duty, to stand their ground and take on destiny's challenge. Both their voices echo through his head, reverberating in his little skull.

_I thought I told you to get out of my sight._

_Don't fight Valiant in the final tomorrow. He'll use the shield against you._

_I know._

_Then withdraw. You have to withdraw._

_Don't you understand? I can't withdraw. The people expect their prince to fight. How can I lead men into battle if they think I'm a coward?_

_Valiant will kill you! You fight, you die._

_Then I die._

_How can you go out there and fight like that?_

_Because I have to. It's my duty._

He remembers the grave, wide-eyed expression of wonder and recognition in Merlin's face when he said that, how he was clearly thinking that perhaps the prince wasn't as much of a prat as he'd seemed, and how he, Arthur, knew then that they had reached common ground there. Merlin had come back to get him to withdraw, although he ordered him not to. It was a brave thing to do, but it was also born of a sense of duty, and that was something he could understand. Thus, he gradually came to tolerate, then to accept the other boy. And one day he realized just how much he enjoyed his company, and that their banter was one of the high points of his day, and how refreshing it was to have at least one person around who spoke his mind and not what he thought the prince might want to hear, and who wasn't afraid of standing up to him if need be. He admired this simple peasant boy's candour and courage and wanted him to see the better side of himself too. That had made him accompany him to his native Ealdor when it was attacked by the barbarian. True, he liked to see justice done to brutes like that Kanan, and his heart went out to the people of Ealdor, whose own king didn't give a damn about their plight, but first and foremost he wanted to help his friend – just as Merlin's extremely per ceptive mother had told her son in a conversation he had, by chance, overheard through the open win dow. As he listened, everything danced with joy inside of him, even while being slightly amazed at himself , and feeling a bit silly, for caring so much about Merlin – "a mere servant", as his father liked to say. But he wasn't his father.

Uther had taken great care have his only son raised as a knight, and grow up with knightly values, and to great effect – greater, maybe, than the king had bargained for. For while Arthur had enjoyed showing off his fighting skills and fooling around like the next young rascal of noble birth with way too much time on his hands and a shiny sword, he had never quite shared his father's belief that a noble birth entitles a man – or a woman – to a life of privilege. A knight, however highly born, won't last a day without the abilities and character traits that are crucial to a life dedicated to serving the kingdom: courage, loyalty, outstanding swordsmanship, honour, quick thinking, endurance, patience, as well as a healthy dose of caution to counterbalance a liking for adventure. A knight is not simply granted the respect of his comrades because of who his parents are. He has to win it. Arthur was still a small boy wielding a wooden sword when he learned to judge people for their actions and achievements, instead of for their birth. And this perspective didn't change when he got older. His father, always busy ruling the kingdom or defending its borders, had neither the time nor the patience neces sary for humouring a young child, and thus Arthur grew up without Uther's contempt and disregard for the weak and the dependent, the small people whose lives never change the course of history, but without whom all the mighty kingdoms in the world would turn to dust. So it was inevitable that he would be drawn towards this underfed village boy who had saved his live, more than once, and whom he privately thought every inch as noble as the Camelot knights, if no good with a sword. Who would have believed then that one day he would kill their mortal enemy with one clean thrust and thus bring peace to the land at last?! The thought makes him want to grin broadly with pride (_It was me who taught him the basics!_), but in lack of a proper mouth, he just clicks his beak, and winces – or would have winced, if birds were able to – when the noise travels round the courtyard as a clear-cut clack, echoing off the slanted roofs of the castle keep.

Several heads look up (mostly belonging to knights, who automatically begin to scan the courtyard for the source of the sound and possible danger), but most of the assembled folks just stare ahead, not wishing to be distracted in their tribute of grief and respect for the deceased king. Arthur sits perfectly still, trying to impersonate a raven like the others who are lured into the keep by the smell of death which permeates it, and for what feels like the hundredth time, he's wishing that could have been given another form to take on for this desperate attempt to turn his fate around. He turns his head to glance nervously at a small murder of crows that are eyeing him suspiciously from the roof of the entrance tower. Can they tell what he is? A raven impostor? _Focus_! he tells himself, trying to enter the trancelike state of mind that always took possession of his human body when he was fighting, to show him where to swing his sword next, but, he thinks grimly, it's not an easy thing to remember the skills of a knight when your only weapon is a raven's beak, though he has to admit that the thing is sharp. He has been able to satisfy himself on this count when he… organized provisions. It's all too much, even for him, the master of taking everything he's feeling and locking it up in a dark corner of his heart; it has been all too much, even for him, the unbeatable, quick-minded warrior: not thinking he was dying, no, he accepted the possibility of his own death long ago, when he was knighted, and not even the thought of losing Guinevere. If he died, she would know what she meant to him, he has told her time and again and their marriage was a happy one. No, it was the idea of losing his best friend, whom he has loved just as much as his wife, even before he knew what he had done for him and his kingdom, and who only got a meagre thank you from a dying man as a reward.

Of course he usually didn't acknowledge that. Men don't, do they, unless they are standing with one foot in the grave, and if the men in question happen to be servant and king it is even more out of the question to put emotions on display. So on the rare occasions he had shown his friendship more openly, it always took a matter of life and death to draw him out, and even then, their talk of friend ship had always been hypothetical, as if they weren't actually friends. How stupid that was, now he thinks about it. They are the best of friends, and he isn't – and has never been – ashamed of that, but proud, in truth. Why did he always have to hide that behind a rough manner and a list of chores for Merlin? Who did he think was fooled by that ? Nobody, and certainly not Merlin himself. It just was understood what their relationship truly was, but it wouldn't have hurt to let it show more, or say thank you before, and not only when he was breathing his last with a sword in his side…he thought he had all the time in the world, he had felt utterly invincible, when he knew all too well how it can all be over in a flash, and then the chance to say the things that really mattered is gone forever. Just like that. But not now. Not this time, not yet.

He waves his arms…no, his wings, he's flapping his wings, let's be precise, he thinks, lest he forgets why he is here and that he isn't actually a bird. Time is ticking away, valuable time, time he should be making good use of. He has actually wasted far too much of it already on becoming acquainted with this strange little body, and mastering _flight_, which could be viewed as a kind of boon but in actuality is terrifying, and distracting, and he cannot afford to be distracted now. He has to stay as focused as he ever has been, and ignore the tantalizing itch in the tips of his right wing, the yearning for cold hard steel to clasp. _Focus! _he commands again. There's nothing he can do right now than to wait until this…event is over and he can try to approach Guinevere again. No, not _try_. He is going to approach her and give her some clues as to his identity, and the enterprise at hand. She is the answer to this riddle, if what the strange creatures at the lake – the Sidhe – is true: that only the one who is true kindred spirit to his own, the half that makes himself whole, can yet save him. Not alone, naturally. Merlin will help her, with his magic. Already he has worked out that he must find the dragon, Morgana's dragon, all by himself! He will visit him again too, when he's back. He _will _be back, because there can't be many things on this earth that could hold up Merlin, he now knows; ridiculous as it seems, for his old friend still looks as if a faint flurry might blow him away, but if he is to be believed (and again, there is absolutely no point anymore in not believing), he was the sorcerer who defeated an entire army of Saxon soldiers single-handedly. No, Merlin can take care of himself; that much has been clear long before his confession. He may have been constantly cracking jokes about Merlin hiding when the fighting started, but what he said to him on the eve of the battle Camlann was true: he always thought he was the bravest man he ever met. And between the two of them, his friend and his wife – assisted, perhaps, by Gaius' vast amount of knowledge and quick mind – will figure it out. They have to. It's his one and only chance to turn his fate around. Merlin is so quick and so observant (a quality inherited from his mother, Hunith, apparently) that he wonders how on earth he managed to pull off the clumsy servant pretense so well for so long, even with Gaius in on it…!

It's weird, how thinking of Merlin is almost more painful than watching Gwen in her funeral attire, a high-cut simple dress (now _that's _out of character!), blood-red in honour of Camelot. She is so serene, so self-possessed, that she seems less than life-like to him, more like a picture, like a…a beautiful embroidery on a tapestry, precious, truthfully rendered, but stiff, unmoving, inflexible. He knows it's unfair to think that; he has seen how she cried when he sat on the window sill of their bedroom, but he is her husband! Her own true love! Shouldn't there be some kind of connection between them? Doesn't she sense his presence; can't she tell he is near? He knows she is in pain, that grief must be numbing every other sensation, but still - she is so quick in giving up on him!

Merlin, now – Merlin isn't. Oh no.

He has almost solved the riddle, he's sure of that. He may not know or guess the truth yet, but he's convinced that he, Arthur, is still alive (_well, only just, if one can call this existence a life_), and he's also aware that the bird that's stalking him is not just any raven. How difficult can it be to put two and two together? After the first violent rush of grief, which he witnessed, confused, stricken, floating above Lake Avalon, and his own lifeless body, Arthur could literally feel hope creeping back into his friend's heart. He doesn't know how he could tell that, but apparently that's one of the things that happen to you when your soul gets separated from your body: it is as if he can see right into Merlin's head. But then he has been able to do that even before all this. Yes, he has even then known exactly how Merlin's brain works, known when he would object to a mission because of the dangers, what offends and what pleases and what upsets him, when he seems to be up to something – which has constantly been the case and doesn't he finally know just _why_?! And he knows Merlin's single-minded determination to pull through, no matter what the cost would be for himself, just to protect him. When Merlin had openly said that to him one day, with only the slightest hint of cockiness – _I'll be at your side, where I always am, protecting you_ – he had answered with his customary sarcasm, knowing full well that every word was true, only not the exact and literal way in which they were true. He has al ways been at his side, and he has always relied on him. He trusts him. He will figure it out. Or he'll put him in the stocks. Oh well, jokes aren't any fun if you can't say them aloud! What wouldn't he give to be out on one of their hunting trips in the Darkling Woods with Merlin again, squatting on the mossy ground, sharing stories and laughter and simple food cooked over the campfire! Well, it shall come to pass again! When he has made it through this mess. It's a promise to keep, something to edge him on, and he is going to keep it. He always kept his promises, after all.

There, the memorial ceremony down in the yard has started. A rather well-equipped figure, Sir Geoffrey by the look of him, is taking up his position before the people as the trumpets are heard with the harsh blare that signals the death of a warrior. Members of the city guard's fire troop are placed near the stake with lit torches, ready to light it. Guinevere is still rooted to the spot, and now Gaius is standing beside her, looking grave, and unbearably sad, hands folded across his chest. He is dressed in a fine robe, which is red like Guinevere's, but embroidered in gold with leaves of the most common healing plants, and of course he recognizes the garment: a gift from himself in honour of the physi cian's birthday. He had asked Merlin what to get him, and Merlin had smiled and told him Gaius hated going to the market to shop for new clothes – "folks have taken to calling him the Threadbare Physician!" When Guinevere heard that, she went down to her favourite dressmaker's stall to choose the fabric, and sewn and embroidered the robe with her own hand, using an old one Merlin had sneaked from Gaius' wardrobe as pattern. He remembers the telltale glistening in the old man's eyes when he opened the present and lifted the robe out of the silk sheets Guinevere had wrapped it in. The same glittering brightens his sea-green eyes now and his chest heaves as he sobs, and Arthur's black eyes blink in compassion when Guinevere now turns her head to face Gaius, and reaches out to take the old man's hand into her own. So they remain, hand in hand, her long dark hair dancing across his deeply lined face in a soft breeze, mingling with his snowy strands. They look like father and daughter, grieving for a husband, grieving for a son.

It's fitting, he thinks. Gaius has cared for him since his birth, tended to all his small and greater wounds, praised his small victories and offered paternal advice and affection when his father was away on kingly duties. In a way, Gaius has been like a father to him – which would make Merlin, his ward, the brother the young prince never had. And like a brother he shall be to him again.

When the _traitor_'s blade had pierced his body, his first thought had been that he'd done it again, had again blindly trusted the wrong person, and that Merlin, again, had known what was going to happen, had tried to caution him, but he didn't want to listen, had callously disregarded Merlin's counsel. How hard must it have been for him, to know so much without being able to act on that knowledge! To walk the thin line between doing what needed to be done and not revealing his secret! To dance around the changing moods of a king who didn't always take it nicely to be told that he's wrong – oh yes, he knows how he has been – and most astoundingly of all: being content to live the life of a servant, doing the laundry, sharpening swords, enduring the occasional insult whilst being able to blast away everyone around you with the flash of an eye! If only Merlin could have trusted him that last little bit more – if only he had just listened to his warnings! Then, perhaps, he would have been spared to feel the piece of the traitor's cursed swordslowly cutting his soul away from his body until it be came lifeless, dead to all intents and purposes but in truth only left behind like a suit of armour to be repaired while its wearer is looking for the blacksmith who knows how to mend it.

His keen raven's gaze moves back to Guinevere again, Gaius to her left side and Sir Leon to her right, and then to the men behind them: the knights of Camelot in chainmail and crimson cloaks, Percival towering above all of them, as usual, in spite of his bowed head. They are standing proud, showing everyone that Camelot is not weakened by the death of its king. The bright afternoon sun is reflected dazzlingly by the polished blades of the swords girded to their sides, and suddenly an idea flits across his mind.

He can't say that he is very knowledgeable about the workings of magic, but as a boy he loved to hear stories about it and had often sneaked down to the servants' quarters to listen to their tales of witches and magical beasts. And there's one detail in particular that's coming back to him now: that while the eye can be fooled easily by sorcery, so that a magical disguise remains undetected, it is possible to discern the true appearance of anything enchanted when said thing is reflected in a smooth surface, a mirror, or a puddle, or a polished piece of metal. His current form is the work of Sidhe magic, to help him recruit his friends for the rescue mission at hand, so it should be detectable in that way too, shouldn't it? Maybe he can give old Gaius a hint? The fairy lord said that he won't have much more than seven of "what humans call _days_" to have his spirit (whatever that was, exactly – it's tough to do this without Gaius) reunited with his body, and it's the third day now, so there isn't that much time left. Plus, it won't get any less risky – and they are going to set fire to his symbolic pyre any moment now, then it will be too late. Time to speed things up a little!

He raises his head into the breeze, assessing the air currents swirling around his glossy coat, and with a loud, rasping caw – to mark the beginning of the fight, in lieu of his signature sword swing – he leaps from the stone cornice where he has been perched and into a deep, steep dive right into the middle of the courtyard. The _whoosh_ of air in his ears is exhilarating, and so is the relief of being finally active. He makes straight for Gaius, who is placed only a few steps away from the heap of wood, directly opposite the gilded shield. His eyes find the gold embroidery on the chest pocket of Gaius' robe, and also the more muted glittering of the eyeglasses for which Guinevere has specially stitched the pocket on. Before the physician can realize what's happening to him, he has pulled out the glasses with his skilful beak and flown over to the shield. Holding on to the slippery frame, he is hovering in front of the mirrorlike sheet of metal with dozens of delirious prayers resounding in his head.

The solemn atmosphere has changed in a heartbeat. Several of the knights have drawn their swords, but remain frozen to the spot, as unsure as ever how to deal with obvious sorcery – how could he ever think that Camelot could fight evil magic with sword and crossbow alone, wielded by warriors who don't know the first thing about enchantments? He is glad of their faltering, though; it gives him a few more minutes to achieve his goal. Almost standing in the air, like a kingfisher in mourning, his black beady eyes rest on Gaius (whose head has followed the black flash that took his glasses with an expression of utter disbelief), willing him to see, willing him to understand.

Time is slowing down…his moving wings seem almost stagnant as he holds his breath... and he waits... and waits... and waits...until the old man finally, _finally_ gives a violent start and stares at him with his eyebrow raised and his mouth a perfect round o, and he knows exactly what is in the physician's mind: that Merlin has been right, again, and from far away words in Gaius' deep voice are travelling towards him that he doesn't understand, but he sees the old man's long white hair flying as he turns toward the bewildered knights with raised arms, warning them off.

When he turns around again, his bright aquamarine eyes are full of solemn wonder, and elation, and he moves his head slightly in a subtle nod, smiling at him!

Weak with relief he loses his hold of the eyeglasses, which land on the cobbled stones and shatter spectacularly into a hundred pieces as he rises high into the air again, in direction of the physician's quarters. Looking back in flight, he can see Gaius, motionless, his gaze following him, while around him in the courtyard people look at each other, baffled by the queer spectacle they have just witnessed, and then all hell breaks loose.


	11. Chapter 11 - Sir Leon Speaks Up

_A/N: here it is, somewhat late, but it is the Easter holidays; and strangely enough I found that my children don't take too kindly to it if I spend whole days pondering over, and writing away at, my little story. ;) But here it is. It could do with a little more action, perhaps, but my wounded heart needed this confrontation very badly. I hope those among you who share my weak spot for Sir Leon will be pleased. Also, I want to thank you for your continued support – your reviews really are very, very special to me – so please keep sending me those easter eggs! Happy Easter!_

CHAPTER 11 – Sir Leon Speaks Up

When Merlin finally sighted the lights of Camelot's castle keep shimmering at a distance, a pale moon had already risen, and he was beginning to feel the exertions of the day; a fact that went not unnoticed by his mount, who kept trying to use his loosening hold on the bridle to slow down to a more relaxed pace. Sighing, the young man concentrated, willing his magic to release its pure, golden energy into his bloodstream, then sat up straighter and shifted his weight into a more alert position, clicking his tongue. With a resigned shake of his large head – clearly a horse equivalent of a sigh – the animal took up a brisk canter again.

"Good boy! That's better," the warlock told him soothingly in that special voice, several semi-tones lower than his already quit deep natural tones range, that he'd always adopted with the Camelot horses on his many trips with Arthur, and which made them follow him more willingly than most of their other handlers – although according to Gwaine, that was because as the only servant in the crew, it was him, more often than not, who fed and watered them. "You'll get a large bucket of oats in Camelot, I'll see to it, but we have to keep going," he added, because it felt good to talk to someone, even to a horse. The gelding gave a low snort and pricked his ears as if to indicate agreement, and galloped faster, earning an approving pat on the neck. Although Merlin's body was hurting in every imaginable place, from his lie-in on the rocky ground of the Crystal Cave and the ride on Aithusa's hard, scaly back, he wished to get to the city as fast as possible. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time, and besides, it was long past the hour he had said he would return, and he was sure that Gaius was anxiously pacing the length of his room by now, awaiting his arrival.

Half an hour later, he nodded to the guard on duty at the lower city gate, and was allowed to pass without difficulty. He felt thankful for that, as he had half feared to be detained, but then deliberately staying away from the King's last rites hardly was a punishable offence, though certainly bad manners; the latter point, he thought, being proven when he rode up the main market street leading to the keep. He was well known in the city as Arthur's manservant, and, contrary to his numerous predecessors, also generally well liked. In a castle that employed as large a staff of help as Camelot did, the dealings between the nobility and their servants couldn't remain private for long, and it had soon become common knowledge all over the town how the prince's new serving-boy, that underfed lad from Ealdor, wasn't afraid of confronting his master when the hot-headed young prince had once again overshot his mark, whilst showing a loyalty to him that went far beyond what could be expected from a servant. So he had usually, in his comings and goings, been greeted amiably and with respect by the people who passed him in the street.

Now, it was different. The few scattered citizens who still were out and about just stared at him, wide-eyed and mute, accusing him silently, or so it seemed to him; although if he had had the heart to look closer, and not to avert his eyes when someone fixed his gaze upon him, it might have dawned on him that they were watching him not with contempt, but with curiosity, mingled with sadness, and great pity.

Keeping his head down, he made for the citadel at a speed that was the tiniest bit too fast for the uneven cobblestones and the nightly gloom in the narrow street, glad to reach the main gate to the keep. He slowed his horse down with a pull at the reigns, not wanting to disturb the heavy silence that hung over the courtyard, and glanced over to the still smoldering remains of the funeral pyre. So the spectacle was over. Good. One thing less to distract him from unriddling what exactly had happened to Arthur, if it wasn't death, and how he could bring him back.

A click of his tongue sent the gelding off to the moonlit stable yard without any steering effort on his part. The main barn was dark and deserted, all the grooms apparently having left for the night, which suited Merlin's need for haste just fine, but just when he reined in, the stable door opened with a creak and a familiar, curly-haired figure emerged from the building, torch in hand, wearing full knight's array and a tired expression on a lightly bearded face that lit up when he recognized the individual in front of him.

"Merlin! Thanks to the heavens!" Sir Leon exclaimed with palpable relief in his voice. "Where the devil have you been? I've been looking for you all over the town and Percival too! We feared you might have done something stupid!"

Merlin stared at him; both touched by the knight's concern and at a loss for words, as he didn't have the slightest idea what excuse Gaius had come up with to explain his absence. Leon, however, just smiled and took hold of the gelding's head-collar so the young man could dismount with ease, and when he had done so, Leon handed him the torch, grabbed the reins and led the horse off towards the stable, saying, over his shoulder, "Come, I'll help you unsaddle. The stable boys are all off to bed already – or to the taverns, more likely, to commemorate their king's last rites, and I wanted a word with you."

The warlock hesitated, not wishing to waste any more time, but remembering the kindness with which Arthur's second-in-command had welcomed him back from Avalon, a grieving wreck, and reckoning that a quick talk with him wouldn't make that much of a difference either to Gaius or to his…project, he followed the older man.

Leon waited at the stable door, tossing his head forward to indicate that Merlin was to go first and light the way, and went into the building behind him, where he fastened the torch in one of the holders that had been nailed to the wall.

Silently, they freed the gelding of saddle and harness. Sir Leon carried the gear into the tack room while Merlin hastily rubbed down the animal's sweaty flanks and directed it into a free stall. He had just drawn fresh water from the well outside and presented the horse with his promised bucket of oats when Leon reappeared carrying a large armful of hay, which he handed to Merlin. Watching the longtime servant stuff the sweet-smelling dried grass into the hayrack, he cleared his throat, and asked, casually, "So, Gaius said you didn't feel up to attending the rites today, did you?"

Merlin continued arranging the hay and answered without looking up, trying to make his voice unsteady. "No… not quite. I'm still…I had to be alone. You understand. He…he was my friend."

Leon snorted. "You've never been a good liar, Merlin, in spite of the great secret you kept all these years. You are his friend, his best friend even, all right, but you were never one to shy away from death. Percival was worried that you might...be considering violence against yourself. But I know you better than that. You would never leave everyone who cares about you without as much as a goodbye. And you wouldn't have missed Arthur's last farewell without having a very good reason. Now, I'll ask again, and you can answer truthfully. What is this reason, and where were you today? Gaius refused to tell me when I confronted him after the ceremony."

Merlin now faced him, although his eyes were dancing nervously from side to side in embarrassment. "Gwen told you about me then?" he asked hoarsely.

The knight raised his chin, assuming his signature stance of reassuring gravity, but his soft blue eyes, usually so pale, were shining with a subdued fire when he responded. "Oh yes, she did. Not everything, surely, there wasn't enough time for that. But from what I've heard, without you, Camelot wouldn't be what it is today, and the King would have been dead long before. Strictly speaking, I don't even need to know that. I may be not the not the most quick-witted of knights, but I'm not blind either, nor deaf, for that matter. I've seen you at Arthur's side all these years, Merlin, and I've seen with my own eyes how you looked at him – as if there wasn't anything at all of consequence to you in this world, except him; and I've seen how he trusted you more than anyone else – and rightly so - even if he tried hard to conceal that fact. That's all I need to know." He unlatched the stall door to let the warlock out, but Merlin didn't move, his narrowing eyes now locking with Leon's.

"But I'm – I'm a sorcerer. Doesn't that bother you at all? How I deceived you all about who I really was?"

Sir Leon shook his sandy head sadly, without breaking eye contact. "I readily admit that I don't know the first thing about sorcery, but I know you. You're a good man, Merlin. One of the best and noblest I've ever known, if truth be told; a good man forced to hide who he was because the circumstances left him no choice. And if a man like you practices sorcery, then it has to follow that just maybe, it isn't the purely evil force I have been made to believe it was." He smiled apologetically, a sad, small smile, full of regret. "Maybe Uther was wrong. I'm almost sure he was. Arthur trusted you in the end, even when he knew, Guinevere said." He straightened. "And so do I. I wanted you to know that."

The skin over Merlin's sharp cheekbones stretched ever more tightly as his facial muscles worked and twitched and he gazed upon the man before him: mild, honest face; gentle eyes; but hardened body, unfearful heart, and undaunted spirit, his steadfast companion of many adventures, and saw in him, that moment, in that humble, dusty horse stable, everything a knight of Camelot was supposed to be, everything Camelot stood for. He saw Gwaine's strength and gallantry; he saw Elyan's calm confidence and desire for justice; he saw Lancelot's heroism and unselfish devotion; and he also saw Arthur's honour, and valour, and compassion, and the friendship he had carried in his heart for his lowly servant. He stepped out of the stall, fastening the door behind him, and with his head tilted slightly forwards, the torchlight painting blazing patterns on top of his shiny black hair, he nodded to Leon in somber acknowledgment. "Thank you, Sir Leon. It's good to know we're still friends," he said slowly, but with a sparkle in his eyes, which now were the deep, bluish-black colour of fresh ink, "though you need to be careful. It seems that whoever befriends me risks early and violent death."

A tiny grin crept onto Leon's face, and he clapped the younger man lightly on his back. "I think I can deal with that. Risk is my second name. I'm a knight of Camelot, after all. Now, back to my question: where have you been, on horseback? What is going on here? And please don't tell me you went gathering herbs."

Merlin regarded him tentatively, knitting his hands. _Going on here? What is he talking about? How can he know…wait. What had he said…? "you are his friend"? Not "were"?! _Then it hit him. Something must have happened while he had been away, something out of the ordinary. Something that had made Leon suspect that all this about Arthur was not how it seemed. Something maybe… to do with magic?

The knight kept looking at him with his open face, an encouraging half-smile playing around his delicately drawn lips, and nodded almost imperceptively.

All at once, Merlin was sure that he could trust Leon with his secret hope, that he could be a much needed ally on his quest to save Arthur, but in spite of his new resolution to act openly, he was only too aware of the fact that it wouldn't be able to act in any way whatsoever if he was thought to have lost his senses, and taken into custody. And it felt so strange to actually _enlist_ help! Always he had acted on his own, with Gaius his sole, overly cautious advisor, and though he had been very lucky most of the time, almost nothing had ever really gone exactly as planned. If there would ever be a time to stop carrying his burden alone, then, surely, that time was now?

He took a deep breath and looked at Leon sideways, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks, eyes dancing again, unable to master the self-consciousness that still took hold of him every time he spoke openly of his secret, and to the people he had lied to for so long. "I went to see a dragon," he said simply.

He wasn't sure what he had expected, but certainly not Leon's fist punching the air in triumph.

"Morgana's dragon! Right? So there _is_ something going on. You went on an errand. I _knew_ it." They were now standing opposite each other. Leon laid a hand on one of Merlin's bony shoulders, drawing him nearer, and continued in a lower voice, "Listen. I've been having…doubts."

Merlin looked at him with his eyebrows raised. "Doubts?" he repeated quietly.

Leon let his arm fall to his side again and said, haltingly, "I'm not quite sure how to phrase this, but my guess is that you are thinking along the same lines. Arthur. His death. It seems all so strange, so far out…when you came home without him, I couldn't believe it at first. No body, no proof at all for what had happened to him, save for Gaius' word, and your blatant grief. Everyone knows how much you loved him –" Merlin looked down, his stomach clenching with sudden pain at these words – "so there could be only one sane conclusion, but after today I'm not so sure."

The warlock's head jerked up. "What happened?"

Leon cleared his throat, throwing a quick look over his shoulder as if to make sure they were indeed alone, before he answered. "I saw him. Arthur – his face, I saw his face at the funeral. Not really in the flesh. It was a reflection in the polished surface of a shield." He stopped, trying to read the younger man's face for a sign of disbelief or ridicule, but Merlin just looked at him attentively, waiting for him to go on, so he recounted, in his calm fashion, but with many nervous little gestures, how the large raven had appeared like a black flash out of nowhere to steal the physician's eyeglasses, and how for the fraction of a moment he had seen the dead king's face looking out of the shield, not like a vision of a man deceased, but the strained, worried face of a man who's been pushed to the limit, but very much alive, moving his lips, pleading, soundlessly forming words that Leon, in his shock and bewilderment, couldn't decipher, and the ruckus that had ensued among the people gathered in the courtyard, so that it had been nearly two hours before the ceremony could proceed as planned. "Many had seen the face in the shield; others even the body belonging to it. Needless to say that most of the simple people, superstitious as they are, at once declared it a message from the otherworld, their King's Last Goodbye, while the other half tried to take immediate measures against the evil eye. It was pure chaos, screaming and shouting everywhere, people running blindly into each other. The castle guard had their hands full restoring peace and quiet again, and it was only when the Queen addressed the people, reassuring them that it was nothing more than a trick of the eye, brought on by a combination of their fasting in the King's honour, the brightness of the sun, and a clever, cheeky bird, that folks calmed down. Guinevere," he added in response to Merlin's inquisitive glance, "had been standing with her eyes closed, lost in grief and memories, so she could easily dismiss the whole occurrence. But I know what I have seen."

"The raven! Of course! I knew it was no ordinary bird," Merlin muttered to himself. He had been listening to the knight's tale with waxing excitement. This had to be the clearest sign that had been sent so far, with exemption of his vision in the Crystal Cave, and the most exciting thing about it was that this time, other people had seen it, many people, and people whose word carried weight, like Leon's. "There was a raven that kept following me around these past days," he said aloud, for Leon's sake, who nodded.

"It surely was the same bird. – Well, it had come to my ears that you'd had another fainting fit in the Queen's chambers, and I somehow couldn't believe that you were still so weak just from grief. I know how tough you are, in spite of your scrawny looks." He grinned, though immediately becoming serious again. "When I heard Gaius lie about you being too sick to come – which I didn't buy for one minute, by the way – I had two of the knaves, boys I trust, enquire after you around town while Percival and I searched the castle, and they found out that you had been given a horse and departed west in great hurry. So I was sure you were up to something. As in truth you were. Merlin…," his voice trailed off.

"Yes?" the young man gave back, although he knew what had to be coming, but experience also told him that certain matters were better not rushed, and trying to come to terms with magic was definitely one of them.

"I don't know much about sorcery…about magic, I should say." Sir Leon shook his head regretfully, "I'm just a warrior – I know how to wield a sword and not much more. But it seems to me…the way Gaius said the King died – a sword forged – in a dragon's breath – it seems to me that this was no ordinary death. And maybe, from what I saw today…" The knight's voice dwindled to nothing more than a whisper as he faced the warlock. "Maybe it wasn't…"

Merlin was standing perfectly still, only his arms spread slightly to steady himself against the vision of the world spinning and whirling around his body. He could literally feel his posture straighten, the weight on his shoulders lighten, the tiny creases around his eyes smoothen. A warm tingling in his stomach seemed to travel through his veins into his arms, and his hands, until his very fingertips were prickling with the potency of his gladness that for once, he didn't have to take on destiny alone.

He stepped still closer to the knight. Now it was his turn to lay his hand lightly on the other man's shoulder as he finished, slowly and clearly, the sentence that was floating between them. "Maybe it wasn't death at all."

Sir Leon reached for his own shoulder and clasped the slender white hand that was resting on it with a strong grip, but Merlin was shocked to find that it was shivering ever so slightly. Never before had he seen Camelot's second-in-command display even the slightest sign of fear, but when he spoke, his voice had a distinct tremor to it, too. "Arthur is…alive, then? But…ensnared…by evil sorcery? Is that it? Merlin?"

_What do I tell him? How can I even begin to explain? I know so little yet! _ "It is something like that, yes," Merlin began carefully. "I won't lie to you, I don't know exactly what happened, but I…I believe that Arthur either didn't truly die, although I would swear he was dead when I left him – or else that the creatures who live in the lake – the Sidhe, whom I was supposed to take him to so he could get healed – that they did truly find a way to heal him, but not entirely, something's lacking, they…", he removed his hand from Leon's shoulder, making fists while he spoke, so carried away by the ideas that were coming to him that he hardly noticed that he was talking aloud, "that's it! They need our help, _my_ help to complete the healing. The tears…! – I –I must speak to Gaius, it's – we – ". He started to run towards the door, opening it with a golden flash of his eyes, but remembered where he was and with whom when he almost knocked down Leon. "Sorry – I'm so sorry, it's just – I think I know now –". The knight stared at him, bewildered, and – Merlin thought guiltily – even more frightened than before. He ran his long fingers through his shock of thick black hair with erratic movements, pulling at it, searching for the right words to break down a lifetime of magic in a few short moments, but as he couldn't think of any, he settled for concentrating on what mattered right now.

"Leon, I'm sorry. I'm a bit…I'm not myself right now. Look, you don't need to fear me. I know it's hard to understand what's going on. I really believed Arthur was dead, yes. But I was wrong. I'm not sure why I didn't notice that he wasn't, I guess it was all too much – I was a hopeless bundle of grief and guilt. It interfered with my… magical senses, I think," – he could feel his cheeks blaze with crimson heat at these words, "but so I thought I was too late. Only I wasn't. I can't explain to you how I know, but I can sense Arthur's presence. The white dragon, which I sought out today, does so too. I think I know what happened to him, but I'm not sure yet, that's why I need to speak to Gaius now. I'm sure I can piece this riddle together with his help. I – _we _– need information, and quick. We –"

"I can help with that," Leon interrupted.

"You believe me, then?"

"Yes. Of course I do. And I'm not afraid of you, Merlin; it's just strange to see you like this – your eyes… You're carrying a power you never had before."

Merlin chuckled. "No, it was only hidden. It was always there to see, you just didn't look, none of you ever did. It never even occurred to you that a servant could have power of any kind. And it's nothing unusual that my eyes change colour. Magic is channelled through the eyes, and becomes visible in them, just like any other sensation."

The knight smiled a sheepish little smile. "I see. It's just – I'm not used to it, is all. We certainly didn't look close enough, but give us some credit! You never were only a servant to us – to the original Round Table knights, at least. You know that, don't you? Not just because you were his best friend, and Gwaine's, too. We all – we all liked you for your…sweet nature and your courage. And we knew you were not without power of your own – you were pretty much the only person who could occasionally talk sense into Arthur, after all."

Now they both chuckled. "Yes, provided he actually listened!" Merlin shrieked madly and, startled by the unnatural shrillness of his own voice, wondered if his nerves could take this crazy state of uncertainty, of everything hanging in the balance, for much longer.

"Which he never did, or only to ignore your counsel!" the knight agreed with him, likewise laughing, but only briefly. "Anyway, I believe you. I – I can feel his presence too, in a strange way - don't look at me like that, I don't have sorc…magic of any kind, I just…I just know he's here, somewhere. – You said you need to look for information. Well, I'm prepared to scour the library from top to bottom if it's any help. Percival, too, I'm sure. Shall I accompany you to Gaius' rooms now? You can tell me the whole story then while we set to work." Without waiting for an answer, he handed Merlin his leather bag, opened the door, holding it until the young man had walked through it, and following suit himself. Merlin slung the bag over his shoulder, ashamed that he had, even for a short spell, forgotten about the bag and what was contained in it.

"Wait," he said quietly, as they walked. "There is no _whole story_ yet. I have still to convince Gaius that my theory is correct. What the dragon told me will help, as will the raven incident – where's that raven now, by the way? – but perhaps it would be better if I talk to him alone first and fetch you when I've made progress with him."

Leon, however, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into a faster pace, making a beeline for the castle entrance. "I don't think that's necessary," he retorted with grim cheer. "I trust you will find that the afternoon's proceedings have served to shape his view on this matter differently – he acted very queer, leaving before the ceremony was over, and burrowing into his books with much more than his usual zeal when I came to enquire after you. And don't worry, the raven is safe. You'll see!" he added, when the young warlock raised his very Gaius-like eyebrow again. "I'll show you where it is presently. Do you…reckon it could be Arthur himself?" The question was asked with a droll mixture of eagerness and abashment, as well as a shy smile, and Merlin could tell just how silly the knight was feeling, but nonetheless he had a point. He paused.

"That didn't occur to me until now, I had taken the bird to be a messenger of some kind, but...yes…he might be! Only then why…oh, this is no good, I have to get to Gaius now, it can't wait, Arthur won't stand a chance when we keep dallying, of that much I'm sure. Come with me, then, Sir Leon."

But Leon stayed where he was. Somehow, it seemed to him as if he was seeing Merlin for the first time; he looked into his pale face – the cheeks fuller than they used to be although they still weren't, and probably would never be, round – searching for the boy he had known, and discovered a man in his place. And although the man didn't look much different from the boy – just as tall and lanky; same old brown leather jacket worn over a simple blue tunic, girded at the waist and topped off with the unavoidable red neckerchief, same full head of short-cropped raven hair over protruding ears – so although he almost hadn't changed at all, to Leon, in that moment, standing next to him in the dark courtyard, Merlin appeared like a figure from times past, wise like a druidic soothsayer with flowing white hair; powerful like a general of the Eagles who had once ruled the land; commanding a mysterious, ancient force with a wink of his eye; deadly unto his foes, but loyal to the death to his friends. Leon looked onto this apparition with fear and wonder, and his gentle heart was filled with the desire to serve this man, to be his, to fight at his side for the king they both had sworn allegiance to, he himself in public, the other man in his heart.

At last, he blinked, confused, as though awakening from a dream, turning his head here and there; but the majestic figure was gone. Before him, regarding him with a look of concern and puzzlement, there was just Merlin, tall alright, but skinny, his jacket dusty, his tunic torn, dark crescents under his eyes betraying his weariness; just a gangly young man, almost a boy still, who could not be called beautiful in any conventional sense but for the singular grace and litheness of his movements, which was very much at odds with his notorious clumsiness, a combination that charmed and irritated at the same time; and his pleasant, sincere face with the deep cornflower blue eyes, though the latter did not easily disclose the fact that they had already seen much, much more of the dark side of humankind than he could ever care for; a likeable man with a hint of mystery, but not an awe-inspiring sight, not in any way magnificent. Not in the way Arthur had been when he faced the people, or braved battle. And yet…. and yet, Leon knew that he would willingly give his life for the boy.

A thought occurred to him. His eyes still fixed on Merlin's, he shook back his cloak, drew his sword, and turned it so that he held it by its blade. He knelt before Merlin on the cobbled stones and held out the hilt of the sword to him, and looked up.

Merlin, who had been wondering what came over the otherwise so sober knight, protested, embarrassed. "What are you doing? Get up, I really must get to Gaius now, he will be worrying –"

"Merlin." Leon said in a steady voice. Merlin fell silent. "My sword is yours," he continued, still kneeling and looking up at the warlock. "I won't pretend to understand what is happening here. But I serve King Arthur; now you're telling me my king is in grave danger, and I feel in my heart that you are right, even as a fear that most of the court will dismiss your claim and ridicule you for it, if not worse. But I believe you. As you serve the king and always have, I here swear fealty to forthwith serve you as his agent, until such a time when the king will have returned to do with you and me as he sees fit. My sword is yours. I acknowledge that you have powers beyond my imagination, and possibly you'll have no need at all of a knight and his swordsmanship, but I doubt that, and I will help you on your quest in any other way as is necessary. For the love of Camelot, my sword is yours to help you defend the king and the realm; take it, my lord."

It didn't often happen that Merlin was speechless – only once in a blue moon, as Gaius liked to say – but looking down on Sir Leon kneeling at his feet had stunned every possible answer into nonexistence.

"I thank you," he managed, as his fingers closed around the hilt of the sword, completely taken aback by this unexpected demonstration of loyalty. _I think I see now why Arthur always holds back so much. If he took every knight's pledge of fealty to heart he'd be a blubbering wreck all the time. _He wrecked his brain for an appropriate answer, but the words Arthur used to say at the knighting ceremonies felt all wrong. He wasn't a king, only his sorcerer, as it were, and it wasn't his place to – _wait_! _I'm his sorcerer! Let magic be my answer._ He gripped the hilt of Leon's sword with both hands and then lifted them high up in the air with the tip of the blade pointing down, to the ground. Resting his forehead against the cool steel, he willed his magic to flood into the sword, blessing the metal in a low voice: "_Hé þrítiges_ _manna mægencræft on his mundgripe!" _

A stream of pure liquid amber swirled round the blue in his eyes, making the sword glow, ever so slightly, with a golden sheen. Merlin handed it back to Leon and slowly, solemnly, laid his hand on both of the knight's shoulders to pull him out of his kneeling position. Their eyes locked, deep blue met light; they remained still and silent, Merlin marvelling at the absurdity of it all; then Leon held out his right arm, and Merlin gripped it with his, and so they shook hands for the first time, both of them grinning broadly as they started walking again.

"What did you do to my sword?" Leon inquired, returning it to his side.

Merlin was only too glad to return to matters he felt familiar with and smiled. "Nothing much, I'm afraid; just a blessing. Enhancing weapons is a dangerous art; if my spell worked, your blows will be the strongest in the kingdom, but you will still have to see to it that they don't go amiss."

"Thank you, Merlin. I'm honoured. I sincerely hope I won't be needing a sword on this quest we've taken up, but if we do, I will use it with pride, and protect you until my last breath."

Merlin chortled. "I'll hold you to that. Because if Arthur is really visiting us in the form of a raven, there's only one person he's going to blame for that humiliation when he's back and I don't exactly fancy being put in the – Sorry! Sorry! Just joking!" he said with his hands raised when he saw Leon's incredulous face.

"No. You weren't," Leon answered happily, and then both men, unable to control themselves any longer, burst into roaring, hysterical laughter as they walked up the entrance stairs, laughter that resounded loudly around the main courtyard and made those in the castle who heard it in their sleep shiver with fear, but with anticipation, too.

Spell: _Hé þrítiges manna mægencræft on his mundgripe! - Thirty men's strength in the grip of his hand! _(From _Beowulf_)

TO BE CONTINUED


	12. Chapter 12 - The Game Is On

_A/N: Here it is, finally, sorry for the wait, but the it's the longest chapter so far! I hope it's not too long for your liking, but try as I might, I could not shorten it, as it was tricky enough to get my facts straight. Thanks so much to all my lovely reviewers. I'll try to answer you personally later. You rock! Have fun!_

**Chapter 12 – The Game Is On**

_When the storm draws nigh_

_Dreams will shatter before your eyes_

_Know that you're not alone_

_When the battle starts–_

_I will comfort your restless heart_

_You'll know that you are home_

_When your stars stop shining_

_Endless vines around you winding_

_Know that you're not alone_

_I will give my all_

_So your tears will no longer fall_

_Down, down on sorrow's stone_

_Erutan, "You're Not Alone" (Final Fantasy 9, cover version with different lyrics)_

The moon was high in the dark but still cloudless sky, and nightfall already two hours past – or so the young warlock estimated, as he finally scampered up the stairs that led to his and Gaius' quarters, high up in one of the eastern towers, just below the roof. Sir Leon had thought better of his plan to accompany him directly and was now hunting down Percival instead, to tell him that Merlin was found and to bring him up to speed about the recent events; a task Sir Leon reckoned should be easy enough, given Percival's desperate desire to somehow make up for his and Gwaine's doomed attempt to take hold of Morgana, and the fact that he had always been the most superstitious of the knights. Merlin only hoped Leon was right. It was a lot to take, even if you had a natural affiliation to the unearthly. Besides, the idea of yet another heartbreaking scene of revelation and of loyalty sworn was fairly overwhelming to him. Although he deeply appreciated Sir Leon's gesture, and the faith in which it had been made, he was afraid that it only served to distract him from the deed that needed to be done, and from the riddle that had to be solved before the deed could even be thought of. Why did he always have to feel so deeply, to care so much? Life had to be a whole lot easier without having one's heart wrenched at every turn, hadn't it? He almost stopped walking as he saw an image of Morgana floating before his inner eye, Morgana as she had been during her last years – pale and dark at the same time, cold eye, cold touch, cold heart, cold as ice, and a shiver ran across his heart. She had been kind and compassionate, once, had cared for her fellow beings, had taken their fates to heart, just like he did. Perhaps it had been easier for her to shut everyone out, to shut out the light and exist in darkness, no longer subject to grief and sorrow, choosing the darkness because of the feeling that no matter how much she tried, there would never be enough light anyway?

Well, be that as it might, he had chosen the light, had never even remotely considered the darkness as something that could be for him. He wasn't like her; he had always wanted not to destroy, but to protect; not to kill, but to celebrate life. Yes, he had caused many people's death, directly or indirectly – and in most cases, he didn't regret it; a man has to do what's necessary – and faced some tough choices, but in the end he had always done what his heart had told him to be right, and he was prepared to live with the consequences; in the knowledge that there was no one to make responsible for his choices but himself, and him alone. Whereas Morgana had chosen to lay the blame only on others, until she had been possessed, consumed, by her single-minded desire for revenge.

Well, she was dead. And he would see to it that her last vicious plot, namely to ensure Arthur's death, would be foiled. She would not triumph.

His musings came to an end when he found himself standing in front of the old oaken door to Gaius' chambers. Dreading the wave of paternal anxiety his aged guardian was sure to greet him with, and the mixture of disbelief and pity that was just as sure to follow once he'd told him that he knew Arthur to be still alive, he figured that it would probably be best to come right to the point before Gaius had a chance to get into his stride - and on top of everything, he was really hungry now, and cold too, and thinking of the rich, warm (if somewhat bland) stew that the old man surely kept simmering over the fire for him, he opened the door, ready to blurt out his news.

Instead, he stopped short at the sight of his slightly dishevelled mentor sitting at his desk, bowed over, and squinting at, a thick, dusty volume through his leather-rimmed magnifying glass, flanked on either side by pewter candelabra and huge piles of rather haphazardly stacked books. Gaius was still dressed in his best robe, which seemed to be rather the worse for wear: the breast pocket sported a huge tear, and a fine layer of dust that covered the garment and the top of his white head spoke of extended research among books that had not been opened for a long time. More books were accumulated on the floor and scattered over the large wooden work table, and even on the worktop of Gaius' small pantry - which was, as Merlin observed with a sinking heart, still as tidy as it had been at midday not showing the slightest sign of having been used for the preparation of a meal. The fireplace, too, was dark and cold, but when Gaius looked up, his elated smile and the reddish hue on his cheeks showed that excitement had kept him warm enough not to notice that the room had become chilly.

"Merlin! Excellent!" he exclaimed with uncharacteristic élan, carefully placing the magnifying glass on the desk beside the book he had been perusing. "I have been wanting to get some books from the gallery, but you know I don't fancy climbing up there as much as I used to. If you would be so kind..." He pointed to the narrow, rickety wooden stair (in truth, not much more than a ladder) to the upper gallery, where he kept his least used reference books.

Merlin cocked his head and gave his guardian a smile that was halfway between amusement and exasperation. "Gaius," he said, closing the door behind him, "I've just returned, much later than planned, from a potentially dangerous mission, and you're not in the least worried? Not pacing up and down or tearing at your hair? Are you ill, perhaps?"

His mentor grinned back at his ward, for once completely unperturbed. "Tell me if I'm wrong, Merlin, but from your frequent protestations I gathered that you don't like it when I get overly protective of you - so I don't know why you're so miffed now. Anyway, I've got news."

"Well, so have I!" Merlin cried, "but if you have to know, it's actually rather nice that there's at least one person who cares enough about me to be concerned when I'm late." He adopted the same sheepish grin that had been on his face the day they had first met, when he had used magic to save Gaius' life from certain death, despite just having witnessed a sorcerer's execution.

The old man now rose awkwardly, stiff from long hours of bending over books. He was very much aware of the emotional turmoil his ward had been going through these past days, much more so than anyone else in Camelot, including the queen, and walking up to him, he took Merlin's leather bag, placed it on the floor, and pulled the young man into a gentle embrace, patting him on the back and trying not wince at the sharpness of the warlock's bladebones. "My dear boy, of course I am concerned about you — you know that! Plus, I also have absolute trust in you and your powers. A dragonlord is never in danger from a dragon, however vicious - and I had a feeling that Aithusa isn't exactly vicious -"

"No, she's not," Merlin cut in. "Just hurt, body and soul, beyond anything you could imagine, lost and confused, and terribly lonely."

"You found her, then," the physician stated.

"Yes, and I'm glad I did. Gaius, I feel so guilty! I should have looked after her, asked Kilgharrah about her -"

"What about Kilgharrah, then? Is he -"

"Yes. Aithusa found him just before he died. He -" Merlin felt his eyes stinging. So much had happened that the news about the great dragon's death hadn't really sunk in, but suddenly he realized how much he missed him, how much he has always relied on the ancient creature's knowledge and help. Embarrassed, he brushed the tears roughly away with his hands, and Gaius gripped his shoulder in a brief gesture of comfort.

"So how were able to communicate with the white dragon? Did she master speech, after all?" he asked in his calm, neutral physician's voice.

Merlin shook his head, grateful for Gaius' professional ability to set emotions aside when he needed to, and to focus on what the immediate issues. "No, but she found another way to talk to me, a rather obvious one, although I didn't think of it." He remembered Aithusa's pointed, pinched face and wondered how to shape his story into a coherent form, when Gaius clapped his hands. "Why don't you tell me all about her while I fix us something to eat? Would do us both a world of good. Sit down." With this, he went to the fireplace and made as if to kneel, but Merlin beat him to it, tilting his head forward and igniting the neatly stacked logs with a flash of magic. "Never mind eating now - I mean, I'm hungry, yes, but there's no time for cooking." he said, ignoring Gaius' disapproving glance. He rubbed at his eyes a last time and stepped over to their little dining table, which was covered in books of all forms and sizes. "_Onbregdan_!", he whispered, causing the books to rise into the air, where they remained for a moment, poised, before arranging themselves into an orderly stack next to the table. Gaius sighed.

"I guess it is no use to tell you that we could have put them away in the ordinary way?" he inquired with only a hint of sarcasm when he drew himself a chair, causing Merlin to strike a cocky pose. "Magic is the ordinary way for me, remember? And that's not a secret either, not anymore. Anyway, it would have taken too long. Now, perhaps a drink of water...I'm awfully thirsty...here." He spotted the earthenware water jug and had it float over to the table from the pantry, along with two matching mugs which kept clanging against each other. Avoiding his guardian's doubtful glance, Merlin filled his mug and downed its content, suddenly aware how parched he was feeling. The two men looked at each other.

Gaius refilled Merlin's pitcher, set both his elbows on the table and folded his hands in front of himself to indicate that he was ready. "So, how did you talk to the dragon?" he prompted.

The young warlock inhaled deeply, and nodded. Trying to keep it as brief as possible, he gave Gaius an account of his encounter with Aithusa and the story she had shown to him in the Crystal Cave. The old physician's turquoise eyes grew larger and larger as he listened, not once interrupting his ward.

"... so she can't be blamed for what Morgana did to her. She was a guileless child, and Morgana the only person ever to treat her with something resembling kindness. If anyone carries guilt for Aithusa's betrayal, it is Kilgharrah. He neglected his duties towards her - he was too strict. He didn't know a thing about rearing a young dragon, and when she left him, he didn't even think it necessary to tell me about it! If only he had mentioned his difficulties. I don't know what I would have done, but surely there would have been something to be done, anything! She was just looking for someone who loved her. And I believe Morgana did love her, or as much as she was still capable of loving, and Aithusa requited the feeling - at first, at least. When she slowly awakened to what was really going on, Morgana placed powerful enchantments upon her to bind her to herself, and make her do her bidding in every thing. She never had a chance!" he exclaimed bitterly. "She was maimed long before the Sarrum of Amata had her thrown into that pit. Kilgharrah saw to that, albeit unintentionally. From the beginning, she thought she was not good enough, or somehow wrong, and that it was her own fault that she was not loved better. How can a child live with that? It's enough to drive anyone mad, and she's not. She's not, Gaius! I can't think how she did it, but though her body may be broken, her soul is not. Her heart is full of sorrow and of regret for what she has done, even though she could not help doing it! It was agony to feel her pain, agony also to know that all this -," his arms spread wide in an encompassing gesture, "could have been prevented if only I had thought of a better home for a dragon baby!"

Gaius folded his hands. "It's not your fault, Merlin," he said evenly, aware that the young man would resent too much gentleness when all he wanted to do right now was to blame himself, in hope of relief. "You couldn't have known that it would be less than wise to entrust the hatchling into Kilgharrah's care. No one could have."

Merlin's cheeks reddened with emotion as he looked into his mentor's kind face. "But I'm supposed to be a -"

Gaius held up his hand. "A dragonlord, yes, you do have the authority, but you never received the proper training that usually goes with that job. It was the custom of the dragonlords of old to teach the principles of their trade to their sons, each of them, mind, or to their daughters, if they didn't father a son."

Merlin opened his mouth but fell silent when his mentor raised his eyebrow, and went on, "You were going to say that a dragonlord will discover his power only after his, or her, father's death, and that is true, but to make sure the ancient knowledge about the ways of the dragons wouldn't get lost, a dragonlord's every child was instructed in dragonlore from an early age. In your case, this wasn't possible, although I'm sure your father would agree with me when I say that you acquitted yourself admirably." He paused, smiling at Merlin with paternal pride. "It seems that just like your magic, you were able to wield your dragonlord power by instinct, whenever you were lacking the knowledge, but there are some instances where instinct can be of no use, and the raising of a dragon hatchling is one of them, surely." His smile widened, reaching his eyes in mild amusement, mingled with a tinge of sadness, and great sympathy. "You know, Merlin, somehow I can't blame Kilgharrah for his incompetence. Who knows better than I, after all, what hard work it is to have the charge of a young rascal who finds trouble wherever he goes! But you haven't told me the rest. What happened after Aithusa let you see her story?"

This was the moment Merlin had been looking forward to during his entire ride home, picturing his mentor's perplexed expression and his own slightly smug smile, but now that it was here, he just felt incredibly weary, drained, and wishing nothing more than to never again be forced to experience another being's sufferings the way he had been today, but then, he knew that it was the price he had to pay for allowing himself to feel at all, for holding on to his compassion; for knowing that if he would get a second chance, he would still act as he did before all over again:

"She cried," he said in a tired voice.

"Well, I'm sure she did, poor chi-" Gaius began, but fell silent again almost instantly, wide-eyed, as Merlin's words sank in. "She cried," he repeated with a simper, dumbfounded.

"I...comforted her," Merlin went on, "and she ..." He made his bag float magically towards him, very nearly missing it but catching it at the last moment and calling himself, under his breath, a clumsy idiot - _great! Now I'm saying Arthur's lines for him!_ - before steadying himself and slowly, gingerly, retrieving the little packet he had made; the medicine bottle with Aithusa's tears, wrapped in his spare blue neckerchief. "Here. She gave me...I caught them," he concluded lamely, handing Gaius the small bundle. The old man threw him a weird look and started to unwrap it.

"Careful!" Merlin whispered, needlessly; the physician proceeded at leisure and with the steady, precise movements of his trade. Fold after fold of Merlin's frayed blue muslin scarf he opened, until at last he held the little glass flask in his hand, neatly labelled in his own spindly writing and still exuding, faintly, the sweet, crisp scent of lavender. If he was surprised or confused, he didn't show it; he just raised the bottle to his face, to see its contents better; after which he held it to his right ear and shook it slightly, straining to hear the way the liquid moved. Apparently not satisfied with his findings, he rose from his chair, for once not noticing his perpetually hurting back, bent from decades of stooping over his patients, and his medicine vats, and walked to the fire to hold the flask against its light, muttering softly to himself. "Hmmm...if this is what I think it is...but yes, the golden hue...the viscosity...," He gasped, spinning around to Merlin again with astonishing agility. The boy chuckled, eyes narrowed with mirth in that endearing way Gaius loved so much, but now he hardly noticed. "Merlin!" he cried, still staring at the unimposing flasket in disbelief. "This is extraordinary! Dragon's tears, aren't they? Do you have any idea how incredibly rare they are?! Only once before have I seen those in the flesh, many years ago, and that was nowhere near the quantity contained here. How did you...? Oh. She cried. I see." He sat down again and very carefully set the bottle on the table between them. "Well, I'm gobsmacked."

"So was I, earlier," Merlin replied in a tired voice. "I know they're valuable, I read about it. But the question is, do they have any significance for us? She didn't tell me." His glance wandered slowly from the flask to his mentor.

"Significance? I should think so!" the old man responded importantly, folding his hands over his chest, ready for a lecture.

"Dragon tears must about be the most coveted substance to be gained from the ancient creatures, rarer than their blood, yes, even rarer than their incredibly hard scales, which can be fashioned into impenetrable shields or pieces of armour. Their magical properties are legendary. But the tears are very hard to come by, or so it is said, because it is such a rare occurence for a dragon to weep. Indeed, some of the surviving manuscripts dealing with dragonlore claim that a dragon can live to his or her full lifespan of a thousand years and never shed a single tear. A dragon's grief, or so the legends say, is the most sublime emotion under the sun, for it never ceases, but takes its place in the dragon's very heart for all time, working its magic on it in ways unknown. And so do the tears that stem from it, carrying unmatched healing power, obviously, and the gift of solace to those who would , otherwise, despair."

"Wait – that's what they did to me!" Merlin cried, drawn in again by Gaius' enthusiasm in spite of his weariness. "When one of the tears fell on my hand, I felt better immediately. Consoled, and ...safe, sure in the knowledge that everything would be alright. And that was even before she showed me those images of Arthur in the future!"

As soon as the words where said, he froze, avoiding Gaius' stare. He hadn't intended to shout that bit out quite so bluntly, although he was inclined to place some confidence on Leon's hint that Gaius suspected something now, after witnessing the strange raven's even strange behaviour; but what would have been gained by a gradual approach? Only more wasted time. No. The time for secrets was over. If the goal was to outwit destiny, then Arthur's only chance was in combining their efforts, to bring everything out into the open, to accept the aid of those who were willing to help, to trust in one another and in the bond they shared with the king. The love that binds us is stronger than the power we wield.

He looked up again, straight into Gaius' sea-green eyes, but they were not clouded by disapproval now, nor pity. They were smiling at him with barely suppressed agitation, the middle of their pupils a sharp, determined black, but their irises liquid, deep aquamarine, deep and old as the sea itself, a place where hope could be born.

The young warlock felt his muscles go slack. He wanted to open his mouth, say something, tell Gaius how unbelievably glad he was they were of one mind again in this, but when he did he closed it again when he heard the sharp clacking of what were, he realized, his chattering teeth. His body, finally betraying his exhaustion and relief, had begun to shiver all over, but he felt so weak all of a sudden that he could not think of anything to get warmer. He faced Gaius, helpless, speechless, until the old man rose and stepped up behind him, pulling his chair up beside the young man, and looking at him from an angle. "Merlin. Calm down. Merlin!" he said softly, and Merlin returned his glance, his eyes widened now in fear, until Gaius put his arm around his shoulder. "Shhh. It's alright," the old man almost cooed. "It's alright now, Merlin. I believe you. I think you have been right all along, and I was wrong. Do you hear me? I think Arthur is still alive." Merlin, still trembling, tilted his head until it rested on his guardian's shoulder, breathing in the faint, familiar scent of vinegar and rosemary - the main ingredients of the physician's popular cough remedy – that always clung to Gaius' long hair, no matter how often he washed it, and felt his throat tighten. The old man smiled briefly, as if to himself, and pulled his ward's shaking body towards himself, into a tight embrace, just as Merlin burst into tears.

For some time, they sat next to each other in this manner, Gaius holding Merlin close while the narrow shoulders shook, until just as suddenly as it had begun, the fit was over, and they let go of each other, but their eyes locked without the merest hint of awkwardness, showing how much their relationship had grown in the past years, a fond and proud father and his loving son, in everything but in name.

"Feeling better?" Gaius asked kindly, handing him his own handkerchief, which Merlin accepted and blew his nose loudly, blinking through the remaining tears in his eyes; then he nodded.

"Much," he said, reddening. "I hadn't realized before how much I wanted you to believe me."

"I did realize," Gaius replied, "and I now wish I had trusted you, but how could I, without any evidence to lend weight to what I took, naturally, for grief speaking? But this here," – he picked up the flasket containing Aithusa's tears again, "– this is another matter entirely. I think this can be counted as proof for your theory. Dragon tears, as I mentioned before, are said to be a powerful antidote to all kinds of poisons, and can, allegedly, also speed up the healing of wounds, even deadly ones. I'm not sure how they relate to Arthur and his apparent death, or how they can help him, but there can be no doubt that in some way, they can. We just have to find how."

"Er - yes, we just have to find out. Should be a piece of cake, right?" Merlin said, wincing at his own weak joke. "So - you're not going to tell me that you changed your mind because of Aithusa's tears, are you? What are all these for?" He pointed to the heaps of books scattered everywhere.

"Well, I made some...strange discoveries this afternoon. I'll tell you about them in a moment – or show you about them, rather...and this little flask here...it falls right into place with them. Extraordinary. Even though it adds to my workload. Now I have to look up everything about dragon's tears, too!" He sighed as he squinted at the golden liquid that formed spiral swirls inside the bottle.

"Lost your eyeglasses?" Merlin asked in a casual tone, but with a meaningful look at his mentor.

Gaius forced his gaze from the little bottle in his hand towards the warlock. "So you know already. You've become quite a warlock, it seems! Is there anything that escapes your attention these days, Merlin?" His right eyebrow went up.

Merlin laughed and shot him a quizzical look. "And why should that surprise you? I thought you had absolute trust in my powers? But it didn't take sorcery to know what happened here today, only Sir Leon. I told you I met him on the way in, remember? If meet is the right word for someone who first has the city searched for you and then prepares an ambush in the stables, that is. He brought me up to scratch about your little ...incident here. And – you won't believe it, but it seems our valiant Sir Leon is much more sharp-witted than I gave him credit for. He came to me to confess he thought this whole matter rather suspicious, and that he had a feeling that Arthur was still alive! He's really got nerve - he didn't know I think that too! I could have reacted differently - it was quite a risk!"

Gaius nodded his head, causing his snowy strands to swing. "So that's what pained Leon! I had a funny feeling it might be something like that. He didn't take a risk, not quite, confiding in you, Merlin," he said. "If you think about it, you, now a known sorcerer, are the obvious choice to tell such a suspicion to, although I'm a bit miffed he didn't tell me. I'm trustworthy too, and it is common knowledge I dabbled in sorcery in my time." He chuckled. "But seriously, he trusts you - because of your devotion to Arthur, but also because he likes you. Yes, he does, don't look at me like that!" he chided when Merlin shot him a look.

"No, it's not that!" Merlin said quickly, "I know he does. I like him, too. It's because...he...when he told me, and found that I am thinking along the same lines, he got all grave and solemn, and before you could say Camelot, he was on his knees in front of me, swearing...fealty. To me. To help me bring...bring Arthur back." His eyes danced from side to side in his pale face, the way they always did when he had to reveal something about his innermost self. Sir Leon's noble gesture had touched him deeply, reminding him immediately of another oath being sworn, in similar informal circumstances, next to a cracked, round wooden table in the dusty throne room of the castle of the Ancient Kings, where he had thought, for a crazy little moment, that Arthur was going to knight him, too. Not that he had coveted the title, or the duties; he was absolutely no good with a sword, that was simple fact, and moreover, he had been happy and content to be Arthur's servant. But a knighthood was a visible sign of trust and respect bestowed upon the one who received it, and although Merlin had known that Arthur had trusted him, and respected him, it had hurt, more than he cared to admit, to see others acknowledged, even though they all deserved it, and he himself was only same old Merlin, clumsy Merlin, about whom Arthur made jokes constantly so that no one would get the idea that the cheeky servant was actually his friend. Of course, everyone had known the truth anyway; and now that he had been at the receiving end of a solemn oath, he rather suspected that the honour of being knighted would have embarrassed him just as much as Leon's show of loyalty had.

Gaius bemused voice made him snap back to the present. "Sir Leon has sworn fealty to you? Excellent. You may have need of his fighting skills ere this is over. Merlin, you are beginning to inspire people! Well done!"

Merlin shrugged. "I didn't do anything. Sir Leon has just come around; and Uther's teachings are slowly waning. About time, too, don't you think? But anyway, what about today and that raven?"

"Ah," Gaius made, "to say that it was bizarre would be an understatement. If truth be told, I began to suspect something when I first saw that bird in your room. What did Leon tell you?"

In a few words, Merlin summarized Sir Leon's account while Gaius kept nodding. „Exactly, just like that. Even before I saw Arthur's face in the shield I knew that it can't be an ordinary raven." He leant closer to Merlin, speaking with emphasis. "It wasn't just some vision. You should have seen how the raven made directly for me, of all the people assembled in the courtyard – and he went straight for my eyeglasses! Look at this!" He pointed to the right side of his chest, where only a small, thin seem indicated that there was a pocket stitched into the garment.

"The pocket is almost invisible!" Merlin said, catching on.

"Exactly, and so were my glasses when they were inside. You'd have to know I put them there – and the bird knew, Merlin. He knew. You know who made this robe for me, don't you? And he also knew that magical appearances can be detected when the subject is located in front of a smooth surface, and casts a reflection; in a mirror –"

"Or a puddle!" Merlin exclaimed, thinking of the time Morgana had transformed Gwen into a doe.

"– or a puddle, or a polished shield!" Gaius finished. "So it is obvious, to me, that the raven singled me out as someone whose attention he wanted, and once he had it, he showed me his reflection in the mirror, which was much different from his manifest form: not a raven, but a likeness of Arthur could be seen." His clear turquoise eyes shone.

Merlin shook his head, trying read his mentor's face, and spoke with a minute quiver, his voice raw and very deep. "So...you think the raven is really...it's...Arthur?"

Gaius leaned back in his chair and honoured Merlin with his stern mentor's glance. "It would be foolish to draw hasty conclusions. There is no scientific evidence that this bird is really Arthur, even though he's clearly not just a bird. I tried to communicate with him but of course he can't speak. I'll have to think of another way to talk with him, but once he arrived safely in my chambers, he only picked at yesterdays leftover chicken breast and then fell asleep." The last sentences were said matter-of-factly, but the old man couldn't completely hide his smug smile, which mingled with alarm when Merlin started so violently that he swayed, and fell off his chair. "Merlin! Are you alright?"

The warlock ignored him. "He's here?! You're telling me that Arthur is in these chambers, in this moment?! And why didn't you tell me that before?!" he shouted at his mentor, but as he was sitting in the dusty floor, it didn't come out quite as menacing as it had been intended.

As could have been expected (Merlin thought), this was the moment Sir Leon chose to rap on the door and enter without bothering to wait for an answer, with Sir Percival's hunk in tow. Both knights wore their chain mail and had their sword girded to the side, but had dispensed with the long and rather hampering woollen coats for now. Percival was carrying a large wooden tray covered by a white cloth. They stared at Merlin on the floor, then to Gaius, and back again to Merlin, who sighed and got up, rubbing his backside.

"Bad moment?" Percival grinned, while Leon suppressed a smile, and Gaius in turn looked from the knights to his ward, dubious. "May I ask..."

"They're here to help," Merlin said quickly, and to Percival, "You're in on this then?"

The giant's grin still broadened. "Wouldn't miss the fun for anything. My sword is yours. You don't even need to enchant it," he said, chuckling, with a tilt of his head towards Leon.

Gaius, however, had risen from the table, looking dubious. "Help with what exactly?" he demanded, but Merlin wasn't having any more of the old man's chronic distrust and secretiveness. "With what you have already begun, Gaius!" he said loudly, pointing to the stacks and stacks of books on the physician's desk. "Getting information! Looking for any hint, any connection between all the pieces of the puzzle! We don't need to do this alone anymore. Please, Gaius," he said more softly, approaching him. "Trust me. Please." He looked at his guardian with such a heartbreaking expression of longing in his eyes, so brightly blue, so innocent, so keen...it made the old man feel that he had to set his doubts aside. If there was one thing he had learned from the past events, he thought, then it surely was that no-one could be protected from their own destiny; it might not be set in stone, but to have a chance of changing it, it was imperative to take it on first, squarely and openly, because otherwise it would creep up from behind and wreak greater havoc than it would have in the first place.

There was a short pause, then a long and deep sigh before he said, "All right, Merlin. You are in charge here. Welcome on board, sirs." He nodded to the knights; Percival returned the nod and Leon bowed. "Now what do you suggest we do?" Gaius asked, giving Merlin a mildly ironic look that unmistakably said something along the line of Don't you let this go to your head! in an attempt to hide his emotion – which everyone, of course, saw through at once, but nevertheless, the knights sniggered, and Merlin thought it best not to look too pleased with himself; an easy task, because the truth was that after all this time of acting in secret, it was a strange experience to take up the mantle openly. He walked a few paces up and down the room, rubbing at his temples, avoiding their expectant glances; then he made a fist with one hand and punched his other one with it.

"Right...," he said hesitantly, but continued with growing confidence, his voice getting louder as he talked. "Right. First of all we must make sure that we all are at the same level of knowledge. I'll start; I'll repeat for you two where I went today, and why, and what I learnt there. Gaius, you can take over then and tell us what you were looking for in those books - I take it there is something? - Good. Alright, sit down then, Leon, Percival..."

Taking this as his cue, Percival lifted the covered wooden tray, which he had placed on the floor in front of him. "Wait, Merlin. Why don't we have some refreshments before you start? You look as if you could use some food, and you too, Gaius, if you will pardon my saying so." With that, he removed the white linen cloth with a flourish and revealed a large platter, laden with cold chicken, sausages, miniature mince pies, and an assortment of fruit.

Merlin hesitated. "Well...actually..." he began, but Leon, matter-of-factly, glanced around the room for more chairs, and found a rickety armchair as well as a stool, which he fetched and put them on the free sides of Gaius' little dining table; the physician brought plates and more wooden cups, as well as a pitcher of wine ("this will put a little colour in your cheeks, Merlin, but only one cup, you know how you are"), and Merlin relented. His stomach had started rumbling again as the delicious smell of the victuals wafted across the room, and crossing Percival was something no-one in Camelot ever did lightly. "Thanks, Percival, just what I need. You're truly a life-saver."

They sat down and started to help themselves, Gaius pouring everyone a generous amount of wine.

"How did you get all this stuff, Percy? I thought the whole kitchen staff was free to leave early today?" Leon asked between two bites of chicken, and the giant smiled his cheerful smile. "I'm friendly with one of Cook's helpers. She had been staying late, cleaning the pots, and fixed this for me. I told her it was crucial for the future of the kingdom," he said with an understated smile, and Leon grinned. "Been taking a leaf out of Gwaine's book, eh?" he teased without thinking, and they all fell silent. Percival bowed his large head. "I wish he was here," he said in his slow, precise way. "He would be, were he still alive. I have a hunch that this would be just his cup of tea."

"He'd have said that he wouldn't miss it for the world," Merlin acknowledged quietly, and with very bright eyes. He held up his cup. "To Gwaine," he recited, and the others took up the toast. "Gwaine," they said in unison, and drank in silence.

During their meal, Merlin roughly outlined for the two knights what he had told Gaius before, starting with Aithusa's call. Both men listened in rapture, only occasionally putting him a question or two, while Gaius cleared away the dishes. When Merlin ended, the physician took his place again, setting a dusty, leather-bound volume upon the table.

"Very well," he said, "now you know both parts of the story. You've seen that we have received pointers about Arthur's fate from three different sources: from the dragon Aithusa, who sent Merlin a vision of a future in which Arthur has survived, and presented him the gift of her tears, which possess strong powers of healing; and another hint came from the raven whose uncharacteristic behaviour I myself, and you too, Sir Leon, witnessed this afternoon.

Now, the problem is that we have a third pointer, or rather, a first one, that came before the others, from Merlin himself; and this seems to negate the other two hints. Merlin stated that Arthur truly died; that he ceased breathing, and his body got cold; that he was, to all intents and purposes, dead. And yet we saw his face in the shield. Such sightings are usually real; the eye can be deceived by magic directly, but not indirectly; a reflection by sunlight always tells the truth. There can be no final proof with this matter; yet the only explanation that makes sense is that the raven is Arthur - or carries his spirit, at least." He ignored Percival's sharp gasp, and also Merlin's accelerated breathing; although the warlock had heard this theory from Leon already, he hadn't been prepared for the thrill that Gaius' words sent through his body.

"As a temporary host, so I guess," the old physician continued, "for that tallies with a description I found in an very old chronicle, a portrayal of the so-called Isle of Apples, which lies in the middle of the lake of Avalon. Here," – he opened the book he had brought to the table, turning its brittle pages with great care, until he had found the right one. It bore a faded representation of an island upon the smooth dark waters of a lake. The island appeared green and fertile, covered with trees and bushes and beautiful flowers, but on its shore there were figures lying on the ground, human figures with distorted faces, while the air over them and the island was populated with number of small, electric-blue balls around which the artist had drawn tiny blue rays to indicate luminescence. "The Sidhe!" Merlin cried at once, pointing to the balls. "The same," Gaius agreed, "as you too might know, Merlin has already made their acquaintance. They are what the simple folk call the fairies, and most of the stories they figure in are true, although they are both much more dangerous, and incredibly more powerful than the tellers of fairy tales would have it."

"Then you don't know my mother's fairy tales!" Sir Percival interjected, and when the others chuckled, he shrugged his shoulders and went on, "No, honestly - it made my skin crawl when she spoke about them. She described them as soulless creatures, ready to kill ruthlessly, although at times they could be great healers, but only to take those healed with them to their realm, and they never returned to the living world of sunlight." He lowered his voice. "I was terrified."

"Well, you should know that old-wives' tales often contain more than only a grain of truth," Gaius said, "and your mother spoke truly. The Sidhe are able to heal the hopelessly sick and mortally wounded. It's a power older than the dragons, but it does not stem from the Sidhe. I have been told, as a boy, that the healing power originates from the heart of their realm, from the Isle itself, which is in this world, and yet is removed from it at the same time. People used to tell stories how the mortally ill were brought to the shore of the lake for the Sidhe to fetch them and let them breath the pure, reviving air on the Isle of Apples. But it is also said that, though physically healed, were sent strange and fearsome visions and dreams, of such a kind to confuse their mind, and make them raving mad, until they ran out into the lake and drowned themselves."

"But...why did you send me there with Arthur, then? If such is the outlook for anyone seeking their help?" Merlin demanded hotly. "Come to think of it, you never told me exactly what I had to do once I arrived at the lake. And I never thought to ask, I was only thinking of Arthur, and how he said I should leave him, at first." Leon laid a hand on Merlin's arm, but he shook it off.

Gaius regarded his ward with the same mild annoyance he had always shown him when he had forgotten to do the chores he had been assigned. "I didn't tell you because I don't know, Merlin, isn't that obvious? But you are Emrys. I trusted that you would find a way, not by knowledge, not by learning, but by sheer instinct. I trusted that you would find a way to summon the fairy people, and gain access to their realm. It is the way your magic works! I've known that since the day you saved my life, all those years ago. And as to the visions – I had forgotten about those, I only remembered them during my research earlier. But you've had your fair share of visions, haven't you, and I don't think they could really hinder you, if you made up your mind to enter the isle - and if those stories are even true."

Sir Leon cleared his throat. "Only why should he want to enter it? What is there? The king? But how can that be possible? " he asked, a creased brow marring his agreeable, tranquil face, and looked at the young man, who had his eyes closed, willing his mind's exe to show him the lake of Avalon, and said in a dreamy voice, "I guess his body must be there...I sent him out there in a boat..."

"I know," Leon answered, "you told me when you came home. So his body is there, on the island in the lake, while his soul is here?" He frowned with confusion and concentration. Magic might not be evil, but it sure was a complicated thing, and Leon liked dangers to be straightforward, and have a convenient place where he could point his sword.

The physician nodded his snowy head slowly. "It seems so. I don't have an explanation, but if I have to venture a guess, it would be something like this: that his body is kept on the Isle of Apples, made whole and preserved by the ancient live-giving power that pervades it, while his spirit, his immortal soul, was allowed to return in another form. I can't think why; a blade forged in a dragon's breath is merciless; when it hits home, it kills. Arthur had been lucky that he didn't die instantly; the blade missed the vital organs, but its poisonous curse had entered his body, and a small piece was stuck inside the wound, and couldn't be removed."

"He got weaker and weaker," Merlin whispered, not dreamily anymore, but in a voice so somber that it seemed to come from far, far away, from the depths of time, although he was still sitting at the rickety old table with them. "I could sense him wasting away. His pulse became so feeble I could hardly feel it anymore, and his face as white as a unicorn's hide. But his eyes were as bright and keen as they had ever been, blue like the sky after the first rain in the spring." He looked up to see the three so different men watching him with the same expression of concern, compassion, and a sense of being an intruder on something very private, which indeed they were, but Merlin didn't care. He faced Gaius and said, louder, "They weren't a dying man's eyes." He paused and shot the knights a questioning glance. "You know how it's always the eyes that change when someone is truly on the brink of death? I've seen it many times, on quests with Arthur, and helping Gaius treating the sick. The eyes...they become paler, darker, like the flame in a lamp using up the last of the oil. They dim, sometimes slowly, sometimes in a flash, and then they go out, and the man or woman to whom they belong is no more. I could always tell when the moment came."

Percival nodded, and Leon's clear blue eyes seemed to be filled with some memory as he gazed absentmindedly past the warlock, into the fire. Gaius said nothing, but his equally clear, sea-coloured eyes were fixed on Merlin thoughtfully when the boy continued. "Arthur's eyes were nothing like that when I felt him...go...in my arms. He was looking at me with a horridly grey face, and his eyes seemed glassy, but they were just as bright and blue as they were on the day I met him, and then suddenly – darkness. How can that be, Gaius?"

"Maybe that is the way to go when a dragon-sword got you?" Percival offered helpfully, but the warlock shook his dark head. "It wasn't like that when I killed Morgana, and the sword I used was forged in a dragon's breath too. Her eyes went dark ever so slowly. It was painful to watch, but I wanted her to look into the face of someone who was her friend once."

Sir Leon swallowed at these words and touched the young man's back. "That was done well, Merlin. Maybe in the otherworld, she will know remorse, and redemption."

Merlin looked down. "I could have helped her once, but I failed. I chose to protect myself instead." He expected Gaius to disagree, but the physician seemed not to have heard his words; he had risen and was now rummaging through the books on his desk with the swift and precise movements of a much younger man. "Gaius? What is it?" his ward asked, recognizing the signs, and got up too, stepping over to his mentor as Leon and Percival exchanged a curious look.

"Ah!" Gaius exclaimed triumphantly. He was holding up a thick scroll, which he handed to a confused-looking Sir Leon, and immediately went back to the desk to fetch a thick volume, this time for Merlin, who staggered slightly under its weight when he received it. "Take some candles, and look through these, will you?" he said, while he took up a quill and ink and sat down to scribble something on a piece of parchment in his spindly hand. "You must search for hints on the mechanism of action that is effected by a dragon-forged blade. I seem to remember that there was a special way to it, but I couldn't say what it was. I have been conducting research about how the Once and Future King of the prophecies was going to die, but I didn't take into account that the special magic of such a sword might be significant. Percival, please take this note to Geoffrey and ask him to hand the books mentioned in it over to you."

Sir Percival took the note, eyeing it doubtfully, and wanted to know if it wasn't rather late for such a request, but when the physician assured him that the former knight and keeper of the records of Camelot spent almost every night in the library anyway, nodding over his documents, and would never refuse an appeal from his old friend Gaius, he folded his large frame through Gaius' by no means undersized door with some difficulty and went on his way.

When the door was closed again, the physician seated himself with another volume and began to leaf through it, muttering a curse under his breath when he felt for his eyeglasses and remembered their inglorious end. Leon and Merlin looked at each other, laughing. "Why do you have us look up the sword, Gaius? Is there something you didn't remember before?" Merlin asked as he opened his book. "Well..." Gaius pronounced slowly, "yes. It's just a hunch though, it might be nothing. I seem to recall there was something special about these blades, some property we overlooked until now, but I don't remember what it was...so please read and look, if you don't mind, and I will think."

With a gesture of acquiescence, Merlin sat down next to Leon. "Better to let him think," he told the knight in an undertone, before they set to work too, and Leon gasped when the pages of Merlin's book began to swirl of themselves, being magically searched. The warlock gave the blond knight a sidelong glance, silently asking for permission, and after the first shock Leon smiled and nodded. "Feels a bit strange, is all," he said, and Merlin couldn't help chuckling as he went on. "That's what I said to Arthur, when I wanted to light a fire in the forest and it didn't work, and he asked why I didn't use magic." Leon stopped trying to unfold the scroll he was supposed to scan to give Merlin a searching look. "Why did you never tell him?" he asked in friendly, carefully lighthearted voice. He didn't want to embarrass the younger man, but he was curious. "I mean, you could have told just him and otherwise kept your secret. You were his best friend, he would have understood."

"You keep saying that. Was I? His best friend?" Merlin asked back without stopping his magical searching.

"Of course you were! Everyone knew it. Why else did he bring you an each and every mission, even though it was common knowledge that you barely knew where to find the pointy end of a sword? Beg your pardon, Merlin -"

"Not at all," he said with a droll little bow, meant to distract, but Leon wasn't to be distracted by such see-through measures.

"He had the whole of Camelot searched when you went missing, some years ago. I had never seen him that worried. And when you didn't go to Camlann with us -"

"I had no choice! Morgana had stolen my magic with a foul trick, I had to go and retrieve it! I didn't want to leave him. I -"

"I know that, Merlin," Leon said soothingly. "I know. I'm just...I can't stand it that you don't understand what you were to him. I simply can't see that he would have shunned you for being a sorcerer. Anyone else, maybe, but you? No."

"And I didn't want him to put to the test. In the end, it was nothing. Me having magic, that was nothing compared to me having deceived him. I can still see the hurt in his face, I see it the minute I close my eyes to sleep, I -" He broke off, feeling he had said and revealed far too much, but he didn't want to stop either. It felt so good to talk about Arthur, to say his name, to remember his smile. "But he forgave you,"Leon stated. "Yes," Merlin said. "He thanked me. He – stroked my head and looked at me without this...this Pendragon mask he was wearing most of the time. He looked at me like I had always wished he would, but I would give that back gladly, and anything else, anything at all, if I could only have him back." The last words were slightly muffled as he brushed away a tear from his cheek.

"Would you please concentrate?! Or the getting back part will surely not happen," Gaius said sternly from his desk, suppressing a smile; he was more than glad that his ward had found the courage to speak so openly. He had the premonition that it was best if Merlin knew exactly where he stood where Arthur was concerned before he tried to reunite Arthur's soul with his body. If he had to call him, it was better that he called him as friend, in full knowledge and acknowledgement of the bond that connected the two of them.

"Here's something about dragon's breath!" Leon cried suddenly. "It says that it can – oh, no, sorry. This is about healing warts." He blushed, turning the next page with vigour, while Merlin hid a grin behind his book, and Gaius rolled his eyes.

He turned another page without looking at it, suddenly realizing what he had just been thinking. Reuniting the body with the soul? The soul...reunite what had been separated...what did that remind him of? A picture appeared before his eyes, a scene witnessed when he was a small boy riding his mother's hip...Could it really be that simple...? Although in truth, there was nothing simple about the ceremony he suddenly remembered. He froze, thinking hard – Merlin's head went up, sensing his guardian's excitement – before he banged his fist on the wooden surface on his desk, and winced.

"That's it! That's it! How could I forget?" He got up on his feet, holding his aching back, and walked over to one of his north-facing windows, the sill of which he used to store his less valuable reference books, and retrieved one of them; a worn-out, well-thumbed little work Merlin recognized as the one his former betrothed, Alice, had given him. Gaius placed it on the table where Leon and Merlin were sitting and began to search in it, when the door opened, slowly, and Percival entered, weighed down by a huge pile of heavy books, and actually groaning (a sound not often heard in Camelot). He set his load down on the physician's desk with a grunt. "This...is...all, I hope, Gaius? Sir Geoffrey didn't seem mightily pleased, I must tell you, but he complied graciously enough when he saw who it was, and heard your name."

"Thank you," Gaius said absently, hardly looking up, "but never mind that now. Come here. I'm...almost...ah! Here it is. Listen." Percival shrugged, sitting down at the table again with a good-natured smile, and did as he was told.

"I had almost forgotten this instruction, because it's about treating flesh wounds caused by a sword, and that is just daily bread for a physician working at a court like Camelot's – I know the necessary steps in my sleep, so I didn't look this up for years, but when you mentioned Arthur's eyes, Merlin, I...here. The undulled blade, however, which nothing can blemish, killing mortal and immortal foe alike, cuts a deadly wound; comfrey can close it, but nothing will heal it. It darkens the eye with sudden strike, and where there is no soul, it alone will be aimed to kill. I had never made the connection, but I'm sure this refers to a dragon-forged blade. And to think Percival was on the right track!" He clapped the giant on his broad back. "Percival?" Leon and Merlin asked at the same time, both with a hint of incredulity, earning themselves a frown from the knight, but Gaius smiled broadly. "Indeed! He called the Sidhe soulless creatures, or his mother did, as indeed it is a common assumption that the fairy people don't possess a soul like we do, and therefore are able to abide within Avalon, located in a world between the worlds, a place that would drive any mortal soul into madness; the maddening atmosphere that pervades the Isle of Apples cannot harm them."

"But how does that help us, and Arthur?" Merlin demanded.

"I was just coming to that. Patience, Merlin, still is not one of your strong points, I see, but bear with me, please. All this thinking about souls reminded me of that passage from my old medicine textbook. Where there is no soul, it alone will be aimed to kill. Surely you remember the time –"

"– the time Uther fought the ghost of Tristan de Bois?" Merlin finished Gaius' sentence with a growing fire in his eyes.

"Now you're catching on! Only a sword forged in a dragon's breath can kill something that is already dead, because such a weapon does not only kill the body. It kills by severing the very soul, and thus also has the power to end something which only has semblance of life because its soul is already gone."

"Wait," Merlin said, hesitating, "you're saying...that Mordred's sword cut away Arthur's soul?"

"Essentially, yes, that's what I think happened. And it should have been his death, only it seems that although he could not live with that kind of wound, for some reason he also could not truly die. His soul or spirit is alive in the raven over yonder in your room -"

"The raven is in my room?!" Merlin exclaimed, but Gaius ignored him.

"...and I guess his body is preserved on the Isle of Apples, where you sent him in the boat. But why...I wonder...oh Gods. That is why. Of course! I should have – I'm such an old fool! Gods!" He literally tore at his long white hair, the three younger man looking on with a mixture of amusement and concern. "I wouldn't disagree, Gaius, but would you mind explaining yourself to us? And why's the raven in my room?" Merlin prompted.

Gaius walked up o a window, staring out into the blackness. When he spoke again, he said only one word. "Ygraine."

"Lady Ygraine? Arthur's mother? What's she got to do with it?"Leon asked, just as confused as before, but in Merlin's face understanding was slowly spreading. "The balance of life," he muttered, and then, in a louder voice, facing Percival and Leon, "It's because of Arthur's birth. He was conceived with the help of magic, cast by a priestess of the old religion - Nimueh. The priestesses claim that it is a natural principle that where a life is given, a life must be taken, so that the balance of life is kept; so without telling Uther what cruel sacrifice had to be made for the birth of his son, Nimueh killed Ygraine."

Both knights looked at him in horror, particularly Leon, who had still known the Lady Ygraine as a small boy. "Uther used magic, willingly? Why - why was the court never told of this?"

Gaius now turned away from the window. "Uther was a proud man, as you know, Sir Leon. He couldn't have lived with the people making him responsible for his wife's death, just as he couldn't bring himself to admit that Morgana was his natural daughter. He needed to be seen as a flawless king in order to justify his persecution of magic, which he blamed for the queen's death, rather than himself, although he must have suspected that Nimueh wasn't helping him just from the goodness of her heart. Ygraine's death wasn't a natural act of balancing life; it was cold-hearted murder."

"But still, it was a valid magical contract; right, Gaius? The bargain holds. That's why Arthur couldn't yet die!" Merlin cried in triumph, and the old man nodded. "Brilliant, Merlin! I should have guessed at once. Ygraine's time in this world was sacrificed for Arthur, the years she still had to live given to him, and thus not even a sword forged in a dragon's breath had the power to kill him before his time was up, only severing his soul from his body instead. His appearance in raven form must be the work of Sidhe magic."

"He can be brought back, then? There's a way?" Merlin asked impatiently.

"Oh yes. There is a way," Gaius replied, leaning against the wall. "But it's –"

"– dangerous." his ward sighed.

"Stop finishing my sentences, Merlin! Yes, it's dangerous. But it can be done. As a child, I once witnessed an ancient druidic ritual. My mother, being our village's midwife, was allowed to attend, and I, still a nursling in frocks, went with her. But I remember it to this day, and later, I read about it in just as ancient treatises. It is a prophetic ritual, using a spell to enable the medium to leave her body and soar upwards into the higher realms of this world, where the sight can look far, far ahead. She – it were always women – left her body behind in the care of fellow priestesses, and when the strain began to show, she was called back by the most able and experienced enchanters by the means of a certain spell."

"What spell?" Merlin asked breathlessly.

Gaius shook his head. "I don't know. It was a strictly guarded secret, revealed only to initiated druidic priests, and by now the ritual has been discontinued, or so I hear, because of its high death toll. But the spell must still be known. Nothing is valued so highly by the druids than their ancient knowledge. It is never written down, for they consider it unsafe to use writing, which can be read by anyone into whose hands it may fall; their spells and prophecies are learned by heart and preserved, orally, from father to son, mother to daughter. We must seek out the druids and ask for the spell."

"Sounds easy enough," Percival remarked.

"So it does, but don't forget that knowing the spell is not all; Merlin will have to perform it, and properly, and before he can do so, he must enter the Isle of Apples without falling prey to its assault on the mind. And besides, it may not be so easy to convince the druids to hand over the spell. They are well of aware of the harm it may do, in the wrong hands."

"But we have to try!" Merlin cried out. "It's Arthur's only chance."

"I agree," Gaius said, solemnly, "but before we discuss the details, follow me, all of you, but quietly, if you please."

He led the way to Merlin's chamber, carrying a taper, and slowly, softly, opened the door. He walked in a few steps and held up the taper for a bit of light. At first, Merlin could see nothing. When his eyes had accustomed to the near darkness, he spotted a small oval form on the low table next to his bed. He stepped closer, followed by the knights. It was the raven, lying on a thin cushion Merlin recognized as one Gaius used for patient that had to stay at his quarters overnight to be watched. The warlock feared at once that the bird was sick, but Gaius shook his head, smiling, following his thought as always. He stared at the black bird, searching for a sign that this was indeed Arthur, but of course all he saw was a raven. They tip-toed out of the room and Gaius closed the door.

"He tried sleeping on the edge of a chair first, but he fell off several times, so I offered him the pillow and he settled down and was under in moment."

Sir Leon took a few tentative steps round the room before asking what the others were thinking. "And you really believe it is Arthur?"

"I truly do," the physician answered with gravity. "He tried to give me clues, bringing me things, to prove his identity, I think – a comb with the royal seal carved into it that might be one of Arthur's; a grape -"

"Arthur's favourite fruit!" Merlin interjected.

"Yes. And others. But most of all, he kept fluttering into your room and back here, apparently anxious for you to return, and there is something in his eyes...you'll see what I mean tomorrow. It's weird; I know. But I'm as sure as can be."

"It's not as weird as imagining a world forever without him," Leon said slowly, and Merlin smiled his beautiful smile. "You know what really is weird? That he's sleeping in my room without complaining!"

They all laughed, glad to relief some of their tension, but Merlin added, musingly, "No, honestly. What is really strange...," his voice trailed off.

"What?" the knights and Gaius asked in unison, and all four of them laughed even harder, though Merlin said quickly, "Well – Gwen! That she's not here!"

"Of course. I don't like acting without her knowledge either. The Queen –" Sir Leon began, but Merlin broke in. "It's not that. I just – I'm reminded of all those times I sat here with her when there was danger no one else was aware of, devising mad schemes to get rid of whatever evil force was trying to infiltrate Camelot. The witchfinder...the time Gaius was possessed by a goblin...Valiant and his snake shield...she was always there, selflessly helping, risking her own neck and position." He faced Gaius. "I always longed to tell her my secret, you know. I was sure she would understand...well, it just feels strange that here we are, plotting on how to get Arthur back, and she not with us! I don't like it. Why can't we tell her?" he demanded.

"Yes, why not?" Percival seconded, smiling at Merlin, "I'm prepared to do everything that's needed to help the king, but the thought of keeping it from the queen makes my head spin."

The physician shifted his weight, exchanging a worried look with Leon. "I'm not sure that would be wise, not right now. I know she seems better now, and all her talk about embracing magic does sound encouraging, but I fear that she is still grieving deeply, and is not really herself. After the first shock and denial she is now at that stage of grieving where she has fully accepted that Arthur will never return, and busies herself with running the kingdom so she doesn't have to think about it. She's not going to believe us that easily. More likely she will think we have gone mad!"

"Or have us thrown in the dungeons," Sir Leon added darkly, and turned to his fellow knight. "I don't like the idea of deceiving Guinevere, either – not one bit – but I deem it by far the wisest course of action. It won't be for long. When we have devised a proper battle plan, we'll tell her." He looked around their small circle for support. "Right?"

Merlin and Gaius nodded their consent, but Percival said, "Or – we could just rescue Arthur and bring him back to her. There won't be any questions about our deception when we are successful, will they? No heartache, either, not even if we...should fail."

"We won't fail!" Leon exclaimed hotly, but Gaius just shook his head. "You really must understand, Percival, this isn't a rescue mission with sword and spear. It will require magic, powerful magic, and magic is never that straightforward, not even the simplest kind. You have, very often, sat around a fire that Merlin had kindled by magic, secretly; though this may seem just like a handy trick to you, what he did was nothing less than changing, briefly, the very fabric of this world! Even a little act of sorcery such as that isn't easily done, however easy it may look. No, I get the feeling that if we are to attempt to rescue Arthur's soul from the spirit world, it can't work without love playing some role. Aithusa's tears, for instance - they are, in the end, a gift of love, and will play a role, even though I don't know what the role might be, and this holds for Gwen, too. For good or worse, eventually we'll have to tell her what we're planning - but only if we have something to show for it. We have done well tonight, but there is nothing more we can do right now. What we need now is more information from those who know about these things first-hand, and quick."

"So we have to find the druids, and ask them for that...that spell?" Percival asked eagerly.

Gaius nodded. "I believe this should be our course of action."

The tall knight looked pleased. "So there may be some use for your swords after all! The druids could be anywhere, they change their campsite twice in one moon. And there are still small bands of Saxons on the loose," he said in a satisfied voice.

"I'll ride at first light," Merlin said with cool determination, though his eyes were shining with a deep blue light; Percival, however, shook his head. "You can't do that."

"Are you mad? Why not?" the warlock gave back, and Leon told him mildly, "Because tomorrow Guinevere will be crowned ruling Queen of Camelot. Not attending could be seen as treason."

Now it was Merlin's turn to tear at his hair, and he also stamped his foot for good measure. "I don't have time for this! If I had my way, I'd just tell her what I need to do and there'd be an end to this finally. We don't know how much time we have left! Maybe it's already too late by now, but I certainly won't lose an entire day in order not to anger Gwen! I'm going to find the druids tomorrow and extract the spell from them, with or without you. I don't care what anyone will accuse me of. I'm going to save Arthur, if I can, because there's nothing more important than this. Don't you want Arthur back? Morgana has won if I don't do this. Is that what you want? Go lick Gwen's slippers if you want to, but I won't!" He was panting, his delicate face flushed with the pain of being forced to speak like he had, but he stood his ground, scowling angrily at the knights to keep himself from crying.

Leon, who had gone pale during Merlin's speech, and Percival, who had flushed up, exchanged a look; then Leon spoke. "Forgive us. You're right. What's a charge of treason against the life of our king? I'll come with you. I swore I'd help you, and it's a poor oath if it is kept only as long as it's convenient to do so. Percy?"

"I'm in. First light, main stable. I'll get provisions and horses."

Merlin smiled, warmth streaming through his body. "Nice to have that done for my for a change. First light then."

"Right; let's get some sleep. We'll see each other in a few hours," Leon said, grabbing Percival's shoulder, and with a nod to Gaius, and a rather odd look towards the door of Merlin's little chamber, the knights left. Merlin wheeled round to his mentor.

"What is it, Merlin?" Gaius asked with a smile curling around his lips. "More questions?"

The young warlock returned the smile briefly. "You know me too well. I was wondering...if maybe this is what my father meant? When I saw him in the Crystal Cave, he said I would wield a power I could not yet conceive of. Is that it? The spell? You said it's a powerful one. And bringing back people from..." he broke off, but his guardian had, of course, followed his train of thought. "From the dead, as it were," he concluded. "I've been thinking that, too, Merlin. The spell, in itself, is nothing new, but in the olden times it was used for just loosening the bond between the body and the spirit, so the priestesses could, for a short period, leave the boundary of their bodies and gain access to the spirit world. It enabled them to receive visions of great clarity and accuracy, but it was a dangerous procedure, and sometimes the subject left what little hold there was to her body, and was lost forever. And that were always the strongest, most healthy women, pampered and receiving only the best food! Using magic like this on a man whose body has died, and whose spirit has been properly separated from its physical encasement, and for whole days to boot, may be an entirely different matter. I don't understand how it can even be possible; but there you are, it seems that it just is. Balinor, as I knew him, was a wise man. It may well be that this was what he was speaking of, though of course I couldn't say. What you saw in the cave will, I'm afraid, remain a mystery. But I can say this much: I believe that this task is meant for you, Merlin, and has been so since the beginning of time. This is your destiny; and if you don't find a way to bring Arthur back, so he can fulfill his destiny of being the Once and Future King, then no-one can. – And now, to bed, my boy. You won't have a chance of saving him if you break down from exhaustion. I'll stay up, myself, and put away some of these books. I promise to wake you at first light."

He took Merlin's hand and led him to his cot, like one might a child, and the young man complied meekly, yawning, and muttered a quiet goodnight; and when Gaius leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on his pallid brow, he received the gesture with gratitude, like the blessing it was. He didn't bother with undressing, but lay down on top of his cover; and with a last lingering look at the sleeping raven reclining on its cushion, its small breast rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm, he whispered, "Arthur…? Don't worry. You're not alone."

TO BE CONTINUED


	13. Chapter 13 – A Crowning Moment

_So folks, I'm so sorry for updating so late. What can I say? I suffered from Merlin-related emotional breakdown, which got so bad that I couldn't even think of our beloved characters without tearing up, not to mention write about them. I just couldn't. Pathetic, I know, but there you are. And after that, I got side-tracked by all the lovely reviews about Colin's performance as Ariel, which I actually will be able to see but only in August! How shall I live until then?! I worked a few Tempest references into this chapter, so have fun spotting them (they're not very subtle so it should be all too easy)! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and if you did, please review! I can't go on without reviews, I do love them. As I do you, my lovely readers!  
_

**Chapter 13 - A Crowning Moment**

Merlin slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning on his cot, haunted by dark dreams filled with shadows of the past, with blurred, coarse-grained images of people loved and dead – Freya, so beautiful; Lancelot, so solemn; Will, so cheerful; Gwaine, so carefree – and conversations half-remembered resounded in his ears, now in whispers, now wailing with anger and suffering, now raised in heated discussion; and over and over again he saw Arthur; Arthur as a young prince, heady and arrogant; Arthur in full armour, erect and proud, about to enter the melée; Arthur broken and pale, mourning his father's death; Arthur newly wed, radiant at Guinevere's side; but mostly just Arthur, his friend, exchanging friendly banter with him at a crackling fire out in the Darkling Woods after a day's hunt. He could hear their own soft, inaudible conversation as he slept, torturing him with the memory of what he'd once had, and the fear that he would never have it again in this life, and thus the talk grew louder in his ears, and fiercer, causing him to shiver all over, despite the sweat he had worked up, and he opened his eyes to a dim, wan pre-dawn light that was creeping in through his window. The voices from his dream did not cease, however; he blinked, realizing that the sound originated from behind his door, and that one of the voices, somewhat brittle but yet strong, belonged to Gaius, and the other one, to a woman, and though the tone of the conversation seemed civil enough, it was clear underneath the requirements of courtesy, some sort of argument was going on.

Slowly, he sat up, rubbing at his stiff neck where the knot of his neckerchief had pressed into it, and almost wished he hadn't slept, as he was not in the least rested, but more tired than before; his head was swimming slightly as his clouded brain tried to untangle the muddle of memories and images that were spinning around inside it. His tongue felt woolly, and he remembered the wine he had foolishly drunk, but when he looked sideways to summon the cup of water Gaius never failed to put beside his bed, his glance fell upon the raven.

It – or rather, Merlin reminded himself, he – was perched on the edge of his shabby little bedside cabinet, beaked face cocked, regarding him sideways with one watchful eye the way birds do. He was large, about as long as Merlin's forearm from his head to the edge of his tail, with a glossy black coat, strong legs, and long wings which even folded as they were now looked like powerful instruments, made for conquering the skies. A row of shaggy feathers at his throat, peculiarly at odds with the rest of his sleek plumage, were erected to one side, quivering sightly.

"Oh...hello," Merlin said uncertainly, "you're up already? Early bird and all that?" He gave a nervous laugh, feeling not a little lost, and silly to boot, as he sat looking at the bird, waiting for some kind of answer. When it came, though, in the form of a low, rasping noise from deep inside the raven's throat, he flinched. There had been a time when he would have found the idea of Arthur, the prat, being forced to communicate by the means of croaks and rasps and the flapping of wings highly amusing – the donkey ear incident had made him laugh for months – but now, in spite of the intoxicating undercurrent of excitement and anticipation that was running through his veins at the thought, only half believed yet, that Arthur was looking at him from behind those unreadable dark eyes, it was just painful to feel himself so close to the friend he had thought dead, and yet so lonely; to know that it was up to him, and him alone, to make sure that the soul captured in this fragile avian body was set free again and returned to its rightful place, so that their joined destiny could yet be fulfilled. Always it had to be him, always it was him who had to struggle on, to try and do the impossible, against all the odds, never knowing if there was a chance that he might succeed; but this time, at least, there was a difference. There were at least three people now – not counting the raven – who believed him and backed him up, ready to come to his aid, and although in fact there was very little they could actually do to help, still it was a heady sensation to be aware of such support. It was a bit as it had been when Lancelot was still alive, and this thought comforted him, driving away the dull aching in his head.

The raven now let out a loud croak, breaking Merlin's train of thought. Merlin jumped from his bed in alarm, making "shhh", but the voices from before were silent now, and now he became aware that they had been for some time, the only sounds from beyond the wooden being the clattering of dishes and of cupboards being opened and closed as Gaius bustled about in the main room, preparing breakfast.

"Alright," he said to the raven, "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry." The raven cooed, much as if agreeing, and hopped down to the ground, stalking awkwardly to the door. Merlin threw him a curious look, then removed his narrow leather girdle and slipped the tunic he had slept in over his head. He was placing the garment into the wicker basket where he kept his dirty laundry when there was a knock on the door, causing the bird to flutter a few inches backwards with another croak, and in came Gaius, ghostly in his long nightgown of undyed wool and wild shock of white hair. "Ah! I thought I heard noises. Breakfast is ready, and so is your wash water." He glanced down to the black bird, nodding at him. "So...you boys getting on?" he asked in a casual tone, while Merlin fetched a fresh tunic – a red one this time – and a matching scarf from his wardrobe, grabbed his girdle, and pulled his linen towel from the back of his chair. Bare-chested, he walked into Gaius' room. Gaius followed him, and so did the bird, first waddling up to the edge of the stairs and then flying down, settling on the small dining table, where he started to gobble down a piece of meat Gaius had set there for him beside a wooden bowl filled with water.

"I – we – didn't have the chance yet, really," Merlin answered, flushing pink, and quickly knelt down by the wooden wash trough, bending over it and dumping the contents of the water bucket next to it over his head. Spluttering and shivering from the cold water, he also washed his face and chest and hastily rubbed himself dry. Gaius handed him his tunic, and when this was in place, tied his girdle around him with one of the neat, flat knots he used for finishing a stitching. Merlin thanked him with a smile and jerked his head towards the large oaken door. "Be right back - have to go -"

"Of course, but be quick. Breakfast's ready," Gaius nodded, cutting up the bread, and Merlin dashed out of the room and down the stairs, in direction of the servants' privy. His guardian stared after him with a frown, aware that there was uneasiness in the way Merlin regarded (or disregarded) Arthur in his raven form. "Don't worry," he addressed the bird, right eyebrow raised as he spoke and his voice full of pity, "it's not been easy for him. Not only now, all those years before, too." The raven croaked. _Here I am, discoursing with a corvid,_ the physician thought, _but then I have seen and done stranger things before. Look at the eyes...they may be brown, but there is a sprinkling of blue in them, and a hint of Arthur's determination in his posture. Yes, I think I am right about this._ He glance fell upon the platter of honey cakes he had taken from the larder, and he took up one of those and held it out to the bird with a gesture that was reverential as well as caring, thinking of he many times he had slipped the young prince a sweet treat to make up for his master-at-arms' merciless schedule, or to soften his father's harshness.

"Here – you used to like them," he said with a casual air, yet he smiled, satisfied, when the bird hopped over and took the cake from his hand, then carried it to his bowl in his beak and began to pick at it delicately, stopping now and then to regard Gaius with his head tilted, as if to apologize for his manners. "He'll come round. You are not the only one who went through a terrible shock; losing you was what he feared most, and now that the worst has happened, what he craves is you...Arthur...in your – human form...and your forgiveness, to be seen and respected by you for what he really is. Not a bird, not just some ray of hope. But I know he will move heaven and earth for you, if that is what it takes to bring you back." He folded his hands over his chest, watching the raven, who started to chatter more and more angrily, desperately wishing, clearly, that he possessed speech, but at that moment, Merlin marched through the door again, flushed from his run down and up the stairs, and the raven fell silent immediately.

When the door was shut again, and food on their plates, Gaius poured them both a cup of peppermint tea before informing his ward that there had been a change of plan.

"Since when do we have a _plan?" _Merlin retorted, glancing nervously at the raven, who had finished eating, and was now resting, with quiet dignity, on the wrought-iron basket that was hanging from one of the ceiling beams. Gaius ignored him, looking serious. "Percival and Leon won't be able to escort you after all."

"No? Why not?" Merlin asked, spreading some lard on a slice of bread.

Gaius sighed. "Apparently, Guinevere was up late yesterday, couldn't sleep, but she thought it would be better to go a bit more easy on sleeping potions, having taken quite a lot of them lately –" he paused, startled by a distinctive knocking sound, and looked around the room, before realizing that the noise had come from the raven's throat. He traded a look with Merlin and resumed, "...so she went down to the kitchen to get herself a cup of hot milk –"

"Probably didn't want to wake her maid," Merlin mumbled between two bites of bread, with an approving smile.

"Yes, she treats the servants with exceptional consideration, Merlin, but the point of this story is that on her way back she didn't take the direct route, but the portico that runs along the main tract because she fancied some air. From up there, she spotted our good knights, conveniently carrying torches, marching to the stables with their full travel packs in order to make a quick start in the morning. Inevitably, she followed them – way too much spunk for her own good, that girl has always had – and confronted them. They tried to feed her some story she saw right through – about a persisting band of Saxons allegedly pestering some of the outlying villages – and then Leon, man of honour that he is, felt compelled to tell her at least part of the truth, namely that they wanted to help you find someone you needed to speak to, and she refused point-blank to let them go."

Merlin swallowed a mouthful of tea."No matter. It would have been...nice not to have to go alone, but know I don't really need an escort. So it was Gwen you argued with earlier? It didn't sound like her at all."

Gaius nodded. "She was furious. She said that she didn't have the authority to tell you what to do, as Arthur was your master," he paused, glancing at the raven, who seemed to be listening attentively, "but she'd expected me to talk some sense into you. Well, it doesn't matter now. The gist of it was that she's afraid you don't support her queenship –"

"I'll always support her, doesn't she know? Not only because I promised Arthur once. She's my friend, she's always been!"

"I'm sure she knows that, Merlin, and that's why she's so scared. She's lost Arthur, and she feels she can't lose you, too, and she thinks that's what's happening right now."

The young warlock stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then gulped down the rest of his tea, grabbed another piece of bread, and shrugged into the brown suede jacket that was hanging at a nail beside the door.

"What are you doing?" Gaius demanded with a raised right eyebrow.

"What do you think?!" Merlin gave back, smiling sarcastically. "What I always do. Make people who think I'm a fool believe me, so I can be off to do something dangerous."

"Merlin!" Gaius exclaimed in his best perturbed voice. "Don't tell her yet! Please!"

Merlin walked back to him, with a true smile this time, and put one arm around him in a light hug. "Stop worrying so, Gaius. I'll explain it to her. I don't have to get into the details, I'll just tell her that there is something I still need to do – for Arthur. She'll understand."

The old physician patted him on the back and returned his smile, albeit uneasily. "I hope you're right, Merlin, because just like Gwen, I feel that I don't possess any authority over you any more. You have to do what you think best. Here." He handed him a small package, neatly wrapped up in a cloth of soft leather. "Lunch."

Merlin, taking the pack from him, shook his head with a shy little laugh. "What are you talking about? Your word will always have weight with me. I wouldn't be who I am today if not for you."

The old man bowed his head. "I wish that was true," he sighed. "You must know I would come with you gladly, but the sad truth is that I would only slow you down – and anyway I'll be of more use here, looking for more clues on dragon's tears. Now, if you haven't found the druids by nightfall, come back here and continue tomorrow. Don't spend the night out."

Merlin finished his tea and reached under the table for his bag, stowing the food Gaius had given him. "I'm sure I won't need to. Somehow, I get the feeling that they're not very far off."

"You can sense their presence?" Gaius asked, eyeing his ward almost reverently.

"No," the young man gave back with his head cocked and smiling an engaging smile, "but so far they never failed to turn up when there was advice to give, promptly and without being summoned. They will come. Whatever my destiny, or Arthur's, will be in the end – I feel certain it is tied to the druids." His expression hardened, the finely drawn lips no more than a pale, thin line in his face. "Even Mordred knew that." An image of a young boy, raven-haired and blue-eyed just like himself, drifted slowly into his mental vision, scrutinising him, calmly, with an unreadable expression, from under the large, loose hood of a forest-green cloak; then the image shifted, changing into a tall, handsome young man with slightly chubby cheeks and an cheerful smile, wearing the scarlet cloak of a Camelot knight with the glowing, innocent pride of youth. Merlin blinked, and the vision dissolved, leaving behind only unspeakable sorrow, and regret; and sorrow, too, marked Gaius' intelligent features, clouding his keen old eyes, as if he knew exactly what was going through the young man's head.

"Be careful, please, Merlin," he said, "and – good luck." Merlin just nodded and hung his bag over one shoulder, and the raven seemed to consider that a kind of cue, for he unfolded his enormous wings and flapped them with two or three lazy, elegant strikes, settling on Merlin's other shoulder, making the warlock start. "To both of you - for it seems you will have company after all," Gaius added, ignoring the queer look the warlock shot him, and walked briskly back to table, busying himself (or at least pretending to be busy) with clearing away the rest of their meal. Merlin sighed. "All right. He might be useful. Or...not." He rolled his shoulder backwards very slowly, to adjust the bird's weight better, the raven rolling with him nimbly. For a moment, Merlin stood watching Gaius' broad back with a tug at the corner of his heart, wondering – not for the first time – what it must be like for his mentor to always be the one who was left behind, waiting, knowing the dangers Merlin had to face and yet to go quietly about his duties, preparing remedies, caring for the sick; hiding his fears behind a calm and rational exterior that fooled many people, but never Merlin. "I'll see you later, then" he said lightly to the back of Gaius' white head, then turned and walked out of door without another word, strangely comforted by the raven's weight on his shoulder, light yet firm, a presence to be reckoned with.

* * *

In spite of the early hour, there was already some coming and going in the corridors by servants, all dressed in the red-and-gold apron of the Camelot staff – maidservants mopping the floors, footmen carrying benches to the banquet hall – yet compared to previous festivities Merlin had witnessed at Camelot, the preparation for Gwen's nomination of Queen regent seemed scant and subdued, with only the barest bow to traditional decorum. There couldn't have been more explicit way for her to announce that she was ready to do her duty, and do it well, but that there could be no joy in it for her, only grim resolution in Arthur's honour. He sighed. During her short time as Queen at Arthur's side, she had learned all too quickly how every action at court is so much more, a signal, a promise, a threat, and her determination to do everything in the right way would make his task no easier.

The raven moved his head to and fro with nervous energy under the odd glances thrown into his direction by the passing servants, and one of them, a somewhat plump, middle-aged scullery maid named Hildith (he remembered that because the name reminded him of his mother's) stopped him, rather bravely, he thought, acutely aware that this was the first time that he spoke to a fellow servant after his magic had been revealed. However, when he saw the curious, wary way she stared at the bird perched on his shoulder, he guessed that after yesterday's events, him being a sorcerer was already old news.

"Have you got yourself a pet, Merlin?" she asked kindly enough, though her expression clearly showed that she thought that either was he up to something, or else had totally lost it.

He blushed. "It sprained a wing. I'm just coddling it up a bit until it can fly again."

She looked both him and the bird up and down. "These wings look perfectly normal to me."

"They would. It's just one, and it's not broken, just sprained, and Gaius mended it. I'm looking after this little fellow while Gaius is busy treating patients." He tried to smile reassuringly, but apparently not in a very convincing way; Hildith examined him with a shrewd look on her face.

"Are you now. Well, well. This doesn't happen to be the raven from yesterday? The one that caused so much trouble?" she asked.

"No!" The word came out a little more resolute than he had intended, and Hildith snorted.

"Oh, right! So our celebrated court physician is having a stab at treating animals now?" Another snort.

Merlin sighed, thinking of the confrontation that was waiting for him in Gwen's chambers. "It's just a sick bird I found in the forest, nothing more. I couldn't just leave him there to die, could I?" Merlin answered in a tired voice, hoping she'd leave him be with that, but she smiled at him quite friendly and said, "Really, Merlin, one can't help but wonder that you kept your little secret for so long."

He inhaled sharply, more taken aback by her perfectly matter-of-fact voice than he could have been by any kind of open or covert hostility. Before he could think of an answer, she patted him on the back with a pitying look and stroked the raven's head quickly. "Don't worry. I'm sure you have your reasons for having that...bird with you, only I think it's not such a good idea to flaunt it in here, today of all days, and being who you are. – Say, are you eating enough, lad? You look even skinnier than you did. It must be harder for you than for most, you having been so close to –" she broke off. "Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. So...take care, Merlin." She squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of sympathy and went on her way.

Merlin stared after her, wishing he had left the raven in the physician's tower, but that couldn't be helped now. He wondered, briefly, if hers was the normal folks' general reaction to his magic, and if so, how he felt about that, when something sharp pricked his earlobe. "Ow! What...?" He raised his hand to the pain, and the raven jumped lightly from his shoulder, croaking loudly. Merlin cast a quick glance around. "Shh! Quiet!" he hissed. "What are you doing? We don't need any more attention drawn to us."

The raven obliged, taking to the air and flapping through the corridor at the height of Merlin's shoulder. "Hey – wait!" Merlin called to him in a low voice and quickened his step to keep up, only to come to a sudden halt when the corridor merged into another and the raven took the left turn (that led to the royal chambers) without the least hesitation.

_He knows where he's going!_ Merlin thought as he hurried after the bird, feeling hugely relieved by this sign that they had been right about him but also, at the same time, not a little embarrassed. He hadn't really doubted Gaius' conclusion that within this bird there was contained Arthur's soul, or at least some essence of him, his vital spirit – he trusted his mentor's cool logic just as much as he relied on his own intuition, and it made sense, oh yes, such a hell of a lot more sense than the red-hot thought of living forever in a world that didn't hold Arthur – yet he hadn't really believed in it, either. Or rather, hadn't really wanted to believe it. If he was completely honest with himself, he had avoided to dwell overmuch on the raven. He couldn't tell why that should be so; his yearning for his other half still filled his entire being, his every waking and dreaming thought, though not like the tempest that had been raging through his soul after his goodbye at the lake. Now, it was more like the soft murmur of a quick-running brook that pervades the air, a steady, lulling sound that soon fades into nonexistence for the tired wanderer resting by its side, but provides the music his dreams are made of. Ever since Aithusa had called out to him in her grief and guilt, an undercurrent of hope had taken up residence in his mutilated heart, but now, with the raven here at his side, he didn't know what to feel or think about him or how to speak to him, what to say to him, or if he should permit himself to think about him at all. For if he truly acknowledged to himself that the man who meant the world to him was looking at him from behind those serene little eyes, he would have to rise to the task of saving him, instead of dreaming about it – and the idea that he might be able to save Arthur from this mess they, and Morgana, had made of things was so incredibly, terribly wonderful that he was terrified out of his wits by the chance that attempting this, he might possibly fail. He just wasn't sure if he was able to go through losing him twice; he felt like something made of glass, or of clay, brittle and hollow, and wished he really had this extraordinary, unconceived-of powers his father's apparition had claimed he possessed, but he didn't feel any special power in him. Why, he thought bitterly, did vital advice always have to come in riddles? Hurling flashes of lightning was pretty useful, and yes, defeating an entire army single-handedly was quite something, and it had been strong magic, stronger than he would have ever believed himself to be, but still, it hadn't felt like something unheard of. Though hope was buzzing around madly in his stomach, along with the certainty that there was indeed a way, his magic felt just the same it had always been, not special at all, just...ordinary. Just like he had told Gaius.

When he reached the corridor leading to the royal chambers, the raven was standing in the middle at a distance from the door, which was flanked by a guard on either side, but they were staring straight ahead, ignoring, as custom demanded, any occurrence unless it concerned their duty of defending Camelot and the queen. Merlin breathed in deeply. "Hop on then," he said under his breath, and held out his arm with an exaggerated half ironic, half joyful flourish as he added, "Sire."

The raven made a loud rasping sound that seemed to startle himself as soon as it was out, and with a single stroke of his strong wings he was roosting on the warlock's shoulder again, as if that was the one place where he belonged. Merlin smiled. He flashed the guards an apologetic glance and pointed to the raven, mumbling something about broken wings and coddling up, even though it hadn't worked before, but either because the men were easier to placate than sharp Hildith, or because they just didn't give a damn, they let him pass without blinking an eye.

Bracing himself, the young man knocked, a bit self-consciously, on the wooden door he had walked through, leaned against, slammed into, kicked shut, or eavesdropped at so many times, but hardly ever knocked upon; however, when there was no answer, he decided that he had worked too hard for his reputation as Camelot's cheekiest and least servile servant to let it go down the drain like that. He opened the door with a trifle more vigour than was strictly appropriate, and marched into the middle of the sitting room as naturally as ever, as if the events of the past week were just a terrible dream he had come to wake Arthur out of, and serve him breakfast. The queen, who was already dressed in a low-necklined gown of scarlet (_Camelot red – she's making a statement_, Merlin thought) embroidered with delicate golden-white flowers,and standing at the window gazing into the grey dawn, turning around to him when he entered, seemed to share the assessment that his somewhat territorial entrance was perfectly justified, for she ignored his breach of etiquette and greeted him with a composed, serene smile that didn't reach her eyes. Dismissing her new maid with an inclination of her head – the girl dropped the brushes and hairpins she had been arranging on Gwen's dressing table and tiptoed past the young warlock and out of the door with a look that was halfway between reverence and dread – and said, "Merlin! I quite expected you to – oh! What's this?"

He returned her smile with a short, embarrassed laugh, showing his pretty white teeth, and turned his head to look at his own shoulder as if only now noticing the animal. "That's a...raven, my lady."

Gwen shot him her classic sarcastically superior look. "You don't say. And what call does that raven have sitting on your shoulder?"

"That's a rather long story." Merlin said in a neutral voice, not wishing to rile her, but even to his own ears he still sounded cheeky – probably he wasn't able not to within these all-too-familiar chambers.

"Give me the short version then," Guinevere told him, but Merlin ignored her.

"My lady, I'm here to ask your leave to be absent from today's ceremony."

She heaved a resigned sigh. "Oh Merlin...of course you'd come and ask that. You're the boy who never does what he's told, after all." She hadn't stopped smiling, and her voice, thought somehow strained, was far from unkind. „Did you overhear me talking to Gaius earlier?"

He shook his head – he hadn't, technically, so it wasn't a lie – and she went on, "But surely Gaius has told you that I cannot grant this permission to my knights. I can't believe you persuaded two of my best knights to leave the castle today! What were you thinking?"

The raven made a low rasping sound.

"I didn't ask them. They wanted to come," Merlin ventured, but she cut him off.

"They had no right to offer it. It's not possible, and that's the end of the matter. They are needed here. Sir Leon will be the one to formally announce the King's death, and the beginning of my rule."

That was news to him. "Sir Geoffrey not good enough anymore?" he asked lightly in his best sceptical Gaius impression, yet with a distinct enough edge to it for her to notice, and get defensive.

"As a matter of fact, he isn't. Oh, he's a sweet old dear, and I do regret that I had to take this task from him, but the people need to see that Camelot is just as strong as it has been – with...Arthur. I will subsequently declare Leon my first-in-command of Camelot's army, so it's only fitting he makes the announcement; and it's not a proper crowning anyway, as I'm...as I was Arthur's queen already. Percival will rise to second-in-command."

Merlin nodded; it made sense, from her point of view at least, but he had a different outlook, and nothing of this was his concern right now. "It's their duty," he said, "as it's your duty to do what's best for Camelot, I understand that. It's not why I came. I just wanted to tell you that I won't be here today for your coronation. There's something I need to do. I'd hoped you'd understand." He bowed his head somewhat yet held her eyes, conveying that he was asking out of respect only, and would do what he saw fit in this matter.

Guinevere bit on her lower lip when she heard his stubborn undertone. "Merlin. Please think! You're no longer just the king's clumsy jester of a manservant," – a load, throaty squawk from the raven – " - yes, I know you never were that, but you were pretty inconspicuous then. That has changed now. You can't just go wandering off on some fool's errant and trust no-one will care enough to find out what you're up to, or to even notice that you're gone at all. You simply don't have that liberty anymore! Those times are past! Word is out; thousands have seen you at the battlefield, and there are many rumours about. I thought it better to contain the wildest of them by giving out a simple declaration of what happened, during the battle, and – after. It wasn't done to expose you –" she stepped up to him, and reached for his face as if to cup his cheek in her hand, but let it fall to her side again midway, "– for you are exposed already, but to protect you. People are to know that I'm backing you all the way, and that you have my complete trust." She faced him squarely, although her eyes darted from his face to the bird on his shoulder. "Your absent yesterday has been noted. Some of the council members seem to have looked specially for you, nosy bastards. I have been told that if you are not present today, everyone will think that you are...not standing behind me, and my rule. That you have an agenda of your own, like –" She broke off and let out her breath. Merlin gasped.

"Like Morgana?! Is that what they think? That I fancy Arthur's throne? Seize your power, maybe? That's ridiculous!" Merlin cried out, with a sudden anger that surprised himself, accompanied by an incensed storm of cheeping and chattering from the raven. "Gwen, you know that's a load of cow dung!"

She turned away from him, back to the mullioned window, seemingly looking down into the courtyard; but he glimpsed part of her reflection in one of the panes, wild-eyed and haunted. The raven seemed to notice that, too; he was silent now, flapping his wings nervously, digging his claws deep into Merlin's shoulder, making him wince, and hissed. When Guinevere saw, in turn, Merlin's gentle blue eyes reflected in the glass, his thin, delicate black eyebrows drawn together in an almost beautiful, chiselled frown, resting on her with pity, she whipped around again, and her beautiful face was a mask of pain. The cold queenliness was gone from her voice, making her sound more like her old kind, lively self again; she even kneaded her hands in a timid, nervous gesture he hadn't seen her use in years. "I know, Merlin, of course I do. But what I think is only half the matter. I have to appease the council and the court, and it seems there are those who are terrified of magic, and terrified of you, and that's the reason you and I have to present a united front! It's the little game of politics. It must be made clear to everyone that you aren't a threat. You see that, don't you?"

He sighed impatiently. Precious time was slipping by and Gwen wanted to talk _politics_? "I do. Believe me, I do. But the council is no business of mine. I only serve Arthur. I'm happy to help you, of course I am, but not now! I just can't! I must get this done before I can do anything else, I wouldn't ask it if it wasn't important, you know me!" he said, calmer now, pleadingly.

"Exactly!" she cried. "It's because I know you that I don't understand. What can be more important than being here with me today? Where on earth do you want to go, and why? Has this something to do with the dragon? Gaius said you found it, and that's all very well, you can tell me about it tomorrow, or even tonight, but...Merlin, you said you serve Arthur. And I know you really do, you want to keep up what he stood for, just like I do, but...isn't your place here in Camelot today, then, by my side?"

_No,_ he thought._ My place is at Arthur's side. What's Camelot to me, without him?_ Aloud he said, "Not yet. I'm going to seek out the nearest settlement of the druids."

"The druids?" It was her turn to frown.

"I have to speak to them, ask them something."

"About the dragon? But –"

"It's not about Aith-, about the dragon, but it's all connected in a way. I have to ask the druids about something I need to do...for Arthur." He said it simply, making it somehow, she didn't know how, sound like a perfectly everyday thing to run errands for a...a dead man. He was looking at her with a serious face, and silent determination; yet she could see that there was something about his unsmiling mouth and eyes – his lips not clenched, but resting on each other gently, ready to laugh at a moment's notice; the barest, finest traces of laughter lines in the corner of his eyes, ready to form cheerful little creases of pure mirth instantly – that spoke of a hope so pure, so confident that one could believe it might move mountains, or drain the sea, or –

"For Arthur?" she repeated without inflection, stepping closer to him. "Is this...something he...told you to do before...some kind of legacy? But why didn't you tell me before?"

He, too, took a step toward her, unwilling to lie, yet almost equally reluctant to disregard Gaius' belief that he had better keep his intentions from her, for now. It was the same old dilemma he had always found himself in, and he was sick and tired of it. "It's not exactly like that," he said wearily, "it's nothing Arthur told me, but it needs to be done. Please, Gwen. I have to go. "

They were standing directly opposite each other now. She reached out and took his right hand into her left, pressing it lightly in a gesture siblings might use, her large brown eyes searching his face wistfully, flitting to the raven now and then, who was sitting in perfect stillness, eyeing her. "Oh Merlin...we used to be so close once. Why can't you tell me what it is? We didn't have secrets from each other then – well, except for...the one. I see why you had to keep that one. You wouldn't be here today if you hadn't. But we were friends. We helped each other out. Or wasn't that real either?"

His eyes grew wide with shock and the deep blue of his irises became flecked with tiny specks of gold for a heartbeat. "It was all real. Everything. I'm still Merlin," he said with the same winsome, mischievous grin she remembered so well from the first time she had met him, squinting up to her against the sun with rotting lettuce in his hair, stooped down in the stocks. "And I'm still your friend, Gwen. Though some things may have changed, that hasn't. Not a scrap."

Her eyes filled with tears at his words, and he withdraw his hand from her grip, gently, and laid it briefly on her shoulder. "Gwen. If you trust me – if you really trust me, then let me go today. Please. It's nothing dangerous, nothing...important, it's only important to me, it's a feeling I have about something, but I have to make sure that feeling is right before I start blabbing about it."

Tilting her head with an astute look, she stated, "You're going anyway, aren't you."

At this, he actually blushed. "I'd rather go with your blessing."

She sighed. "You have it. I can't forbid you to go anyway, but you have it. I'll tell my maid to spread the rumour that you're ill, grieving, just like yesterday. That's perfectly plausible for now. But you had better make sure you're not seen on the streets when you leave, and on your return." She paused. "I'm sorry for stealing your companions from you. But they have both have such a prominent place among the knights, they need to be here. Shall I assign you one or two of the junior knights as an escort instead?"

He quickly declined. Sharing this with friends like Leon and Percival would have been nice, like old times, almost, and brought a measure of comfort, but the idea of having to converse with a couple of green novice knights probably half afraid of him made his skin crawl. "I'm fine on my own." Something occurred to him. "That is – if I'm allowed to use magic?"

She looked at him, too heavyhearted to smile, yet the faint shimmering that passed over her eyes told him she did see the irony of his question. "With my special permission. You must promise me, though, to tell me what all this is about when you found what you're quite obviously looking for." She yanked at his neckerchief playfully, and he could see how starved she was for human contact, and how terrified that it might be seen as a weakness, and his heart hurt for her.

"And I want to hear the story about your bird here. I assume it's the raven that spooked the townsfolk yesterday. I put it down to a combination of overexcitement and superstition, but it is a bit strange that now I see the same bird in the custody of our only know sorcerer. I wonder if there is a connection after all?"

The raven jerked his head up and down and croaked loudly while Merlin struggled to keep his face neutral. The broken wing cover-up was already on his tongue when he thought, _what the heck_, and said, "Oh yes, my lady. There's definitely a connection," and quickly, before the mad laugh that was building up inside him could get out, he nodded his goodbye to her and strode out of the room, eager to enter his day's work and another part of the riddle.

* * *

Half an hour after he had taken his leave from Gwen, Merlin was walking deep inside the Darkling Woods, watching the raven fly ahead of him, hovering patiently when he fell back too far, about five feet above his head. They had left Camelot unobserved, as far as he could tell, by one of the secret passages that led from the cellars to the edge of the forest. He had magicked the massive round metal grille at the end open so neatly that when they had passed through, it could be set into its hinges again loosely without showing the barest trace of having been opened, providing quick and easy access for their return, for although he did not like to sneak out of and back into Camelot like a thief in the night, as if nothing had changed at all, he knew that this was the best he could have gotten from Gwen, and he had no intention of making things even more difficult for her by letting himself be seen if she did not wish him to be seen.

Now that he was a good distance away from the castle, he made his way leisurely. Haste would not help him reach his destination faster, having absolutely no idea where that destination might be; so he just tried to be alert, watching out for any tracks, listening for any unusual voice over the early morning twittering of an army of little birds, and now and then used his mind's eye to scan the paths ahead and to the left and right. Saxon activity now was as good as contained, Leon had said yesterday, but he still didn't want to be taken unawares and take the chance for anything to impede what he had to do today.

He had no doubt whatsoever that there was some druidic group not too far off who were holding one of the keys for this puzzle, and ready to hand it over to him. He marvelled that he could be so sure they were waiting for him, when only yesterday he'd had not an inkling that they could figure in some way. He should have guessed, though. If he knew anything at all about the druids, however, it was safe to say that they would have some knowledge about what had happened at and after Camlann, and about the strange predicament he was finding himself in, torn between hope and desperation. It was equally clear to him, however, that the druids would never actively approach him with their knowledge if he didn't set out specially to seek it. They were a reclusive people, preferring to go about their traditional ways silently and contently, and not to meddle in the affairs of kings as long as they were free to live in peace and to wander without hindrance in the woods that had been their home and shelter for centuries. The living they scraped off the land was but meager, for they did not till the fields, but hunted the wild animals and collected the fruit of the forests; yet they were known throughout the realm as great healers, and prized by peasants whose medical care was provided by wandering quack doctors whose treatment was at best ineffective, if not even harmful. Physicians were available only to the rich and privileged, and a midwife was the greatest treasure a village could boast of, but sickness and accidents are frequent guests in the humble homesteads; and although every mistress even of the smallest and shabbiest hut gathered and dried her own store of medicinal herbs for the most common ailments, but beyond those, a nightly trip to the druids' campfires was, more often than not, the only chance of getting healed. All that in exchange for only some wheat or barley or a nice fat pigeon, so who cared if maybe there was magic in the deal? The king in Camelot might, but he was far away – for people who barely went beyond a two-mile radius from their native hamlet. The arrangement worked very well, even after King Uther had killed so many of the druids during his Great Purge; the druids had simply retreated further into the woods and become a bit harder to track down, and remained relatively unmolested since, although Merlin was painfully aware that Arthur had not made good on the promise he had given to that ghost at the shrine Elyan had disturbed – the promise to embrace those with magic. True, there had been no persecution of sorcerers under Arthur's reign, and he had shown his tolerance by giving a boy of druid parentage the chance to be one of his knights (and a fat lot of good that had done! The traitor!), but he had chosen simply not to address the question of magic, not actively fighting it, but not touching his father's laws, either.

And that, in the end, had brought his...death. Yes, it was death, or a kind of death, as of now, and he had to remember to think of it as death, for although he now genuinely believed there was a chance to bring Arthur back from, as it were, the realm of the dead, chance wasn't fact, the deed wasn't done yet, and the outcome more than uncertain. _And if those blasted druids don't make their appearance soon, it will never happen anyway, and Arthur will be lying in Avalon till the end of time!_ he thought with an unusual flash of temper, and feeling that if he was going to rant in his head, he might as well do it thoroughly, and added silently, _I could use some help here, destiny! _

He paused, mopping his sweaty brow with his forearm. The sun had gone up a good way during his march, and although it warmed the air enough for him to feel comfortable, its rays were filtered through a thin layer of greyish clouds, shrouding the land in a dismal, hazy atmosphere that contrasted painfully with the glaring grey-white of the sky that hurt his eyes when he looked up to it through the leafy roof of the forest to check the time – an hour or so before midday, by his estimation, and from the look of the trees around him he knew the White Mountains couldn't be far off. If the druids had wished to avoid the confrontation between Morgana's troops and the army of Camelot – and they most likely had – the foot of the mountains would offer perfect cover, with the many caves that riddled the rock, and the deep, densely wooded valleys.

His glance fell upon the broad trunk of a large oak, the ground around it covered by thick soft moss, and decided that this was a good spot as any to take a lunch break, and maybe to try and see the druids' whereabouts in his mind's eye. He looked up again to the raven, but could not see him, and scanned the treetops with a sudden surge of panic when he heard the soft flap-flap of beating wings, and saw the raven swoop down to him at break-neck speed, landing neatly on the ground by his side. Merlin gave him a nod, relieved, and jerked his head towards the oak. "Care for some lunch?" he asked as he turned from the raven, towards the tree, not sure why he felt the need to speak despite knowing there would not be an answer. He let his old leather bag slide slowly to the ground and sat down on the mossy ground, with his back against the tree. The raven seemed to watch him, with his small, glossy head at an angle, from the point where he had landed.

Merlin opened his bag and produced the packed meal he had brought from Camelot. "Come on then," he called to the raven, who remained where he was, a picture of indecision, "there's food! Or don't you eat?" He wracked his brains trying to remember if he had actually seen the raven eat at some point or other, but it didn't come to him, and he wished he had asked Gaius for more information about what kind of creature the raven actually was. If Gaius knew, that was – he hadn't exactly given the impression that he wholly understood what was happening. The work of magic, of course; but in what way? _Carrying his spirit_, Gaius had said, but wasn't that a little bit vague? What did that mean?

Merlin thought back to the previous night, when he had spoken to the sleeping bird, calling him Arthur. He had used the name without thinking about it, without wondering if he really believed in it, it had just come to him and he had accepted the raven's identity without questioning it, or wondering why he didn't question it. But then it had been the end of a very long day, and a day packed with revelations and emotional moments. He had just been overwrought – still exhausted by the frenetic event leading up to Arthur's seeming death, thrilled beyond even his wildest hope by the idea of rescue, while being dead on his feet from all his physical and emotional exertions. Of course he had wanted the raven to be Arthur. It had made perfect sense to him. And in reality it still did so now. Who or what else could the raven be? He didn't trust the Sidhe one little bit, but according to Gaius (whose scholarship and knowledge still was perfection in his eyes, in spite of his mentor's fondness for claiming that he didn't know everything, which Merlin thought pure and uncalled-for modesty) the magic at work here didn't originate purely with the Sidhe, but with Avalon's ancient power, and with the bargain Uther had struck willingly, if misconceived, with Nimueh. So his fears should be at rest on this count, but from the moment he had woken this morning, he had been feeling at a complete loss for ways to speak with the raven, interact with him, or just simply being with him, and he couldn't say why.

Or could he?

The raven was still a few feet away, motionless on his strong black legs. His small dark eyes were fixed on Merlin, blinking fast with white, almost transparent eyelids. The young warlock sighed, although what he really would have liked to do was thrusting his fists into the bark of the tree he was leaning against. Or throw some stones randomly. Something...violent. Without hurting anyone or anything, of course. It was rare for him to experience such a deviation from his sweet and gentle disposition, and that he did now stood to show what toll the last days had taken on him. He was furious with himself for being such a daisy. All in all, the situation now looked so surpassingly different from what it had been four days ago, he had real hope that this nightmare could yet be turned around, and in a certain Arthur was with him even now, so what did it matter that he didn't know exactly in _which_ way he was here?

But it did matter. At the moment, it was all that mattered to him, and it didn't exactly help that he still blamed himself entirely for the fatal events that had reduced his friend to the existence of an animal. He had failed him, because he had failed his destiny.

He had lost sight of his real task, the actual goal of helping create a united Albion and returning magic to the land. Because somewhere along the way, this destiny had ceased to be so important to him. And he hadn't kept his secret for fear of repercussions anymore. He had kept it not because he thought Arthur would really have a problem with him being a sorcerer. He had shown on different occasions that he was inclined not to think magic purely evil, and with the proper guidance he might have come to accept it. Merlin was sure of that now; his ill-fated last trip with him was ample proof of that, for even though he had been injured then, dependent on his servant, and unable to act, it had been remarkable how quickly he had overcome his prejudices about magic. No, Merlin knew he had kept his secret, guarded it jealously against all odds because he had been totally, utterly terrified of the chance that once Arthur knew he had lied to him from the start, had misused the trust he had put in him, he would loathe him. And that would have been the worst. Everything he had done, he hadn't done for Camelot, or for Albion, and not even for the freedom of magic, and those who possessed it.

He had done it for Arthur, and for him alone.

And there was nothing wrong with that, of course not, it had been part of his destiny to protect him, after all, so he could build his kingdom. They had been, after all, like – two sides of the same coin. At last, he saw how true those words had been. They had been drawn to one another like the bee to the flower, they couldn't help it. Arthur was a good man, and Merlin was proud to have been his servant, and more so to have been his friend, but just like the fool he was, he had let his feelings cloud his judgement. If Arthur's friendship and respect hadn't meant so damn much to him, he would surely have taken one of the many chances he'd had to tell him his secret, to make him see there could be indeed a place for magic in Camelot.

After the incident with the Disir, when he had refrained from even trying to heal Mordred, denying his own natural compassion and humanity, he had betrayed his own innermost nature, and his heritage, and that of so many others when he had told Arthur the opposite of what he believed in, if only he could save his life! When all he would have had to do was to nod when Arthur said maybe magic wasn't evil, nod and conjure his little dragon from the fire, and say, _you're right, it's not, look at me, I'm a sorcerer, and you know I'm not evil! _Then Mordred would either have died an honourable and very convenient death, or if he had lived, become a part of a new Camelot that no longer outlawed those with magic, and his girlfriend wouldn't have died and he would never have felt the need to take revenge on Arthur. In both cases, Merlin thought with a short, bitter chuckle, he would now most likely be out in the training grounds with Arthur, ducking behind a shield and trying to dodge the blows from Arthur's sword. The last thought made him smile briefly.

So in the end, his foretold destiny, like the hope of saving Arthur, had all come down to trust. His connection to Arthur had always been an intrinsic part of it, Kilgharrah had made that clear during their very first meeting. _The half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole._ And now, he saw why. They had been destined to be friends because the task that had been theirs to undertake could only have been completed with mutual trust. Oh, he saw that so clearly now! He had been meant to trust Arthur enough to reveal his magic to him, just like Arthur had been meant to trust him enough not to scorn him, but to listen and learn and eventually change his attitude towards magic. Arthur had shown himself worthy, had indeed trusted him enough, but he, Merlin, hadn't. What was his confession worth after all? It had been completely pointless, too late by far. To think that he, the naive country boy, who always wanted to believe in everyone's goodness, had not been able to put his absolute trust in Arthur, to trust that he would understand. What irony.

And now, after he had botched all the real chances of fulfilling his destiny, the very last nebulous chance was here, sitting there in front of him in the form of a raven, while what he wanted now, what he needed, what he craved, what he longed for with every fibre of his sorry heart was to be with Arthur again, the real Arthur, human flesh and blood, sandy fringe, square jaw, haughty look softened by the ready twinkling in the keen eyes. He had had so little time with him at the end, and so much had gone unspoken. He wanted Arthur here with him, wanted to cry while he looked on, wanted to unload all his misery and guilt and regret unto Arthur's broad shoulders. And more than anything else, he wanted to laugh with him again like they had when they were two carefree young men, not yet pressed down by their respective burdens of kingship and destiny.

With his back still against the hard oaken bark and his knees drawn up, clasped by both his hands, he started to cry, silently, for all the missed chances, and all the lost laughs, and the cruelty of being destiny's pawn. Before, he had cried and grieved for Arthur; now, he wept and ached for himself. When Kilgharrah had told him, looking down on Arthur's still body, that there was nothing he could do, he had accepted it. He hadn't tried to heal Arthur with magic, again and again to the point of exhaustion; he hadn't summoned Aithusa or call out to the Sidhe for help, because he had been numb with pain, but chiefly because finally he had imagined to understand that there was no escape from destiny, that there was really nothing you could do when your life had been foretold. Destiny dangled a carrot in front of you to get you going, but in the end, you were nothing but a spirit, all humankind only spirits, melting into thin air when the dream dissolves. He had accepted all that, but resented it, blaming himself for his failure; now, it became clear to him how liberating it was to know that you can't escape destiny. Arthur's destiny of dying at Mordred's hand had been fulfilled, for he had, in a way, died; but it didn't end there. Merlin, as he cried, saw his future path ahead clearly: to go with the prophecies, ride on the crest of their wave, but do what he thought was right instead of trying to play games with destiny, in a blind attempt to deflect it. He was far too modest to assume that Arthur's demise, his almost-death was a punishment for himself, for his meddling games and futile attempts to right this meddling; but with his utter lack of trust he had harmed himself and the one person he couldn't even imagine being without. That was gone. From now on, he would put his faith in those whom he loved, and trust without reserve.

He cried for a long time, while the sun passed its highest point, the afternoon rays only imperfectly illuminating the leafy shadows of the wood. His muscles grew limb; his agitated mind went blank. Slowly, painfully, like a bad tooth one has extracted, his guilt and shame left his body, in the hot tears that streamed down his bony cheeks, stinging his eyes as they went by. He didn't notice the chill that had started to pervade the air; nor the raven, who had approached him cautiously when the tears had begun to fall, and hopped unto his shoulder again, resting his warm, smoothly feathered head against the bend of the warlock's clammy neck.

The sky now became more and more overcast. Merlin sat deathly quiet. His eyes alone, shining with a subtle delphinium blue, so exquisitely beautiful, spoke of life and of power within. In the late-afternoon half-light among the trees, with the raven perched trustingly on his collarbone, he looked every inch the magical creature he truly was; his slender form and pale elfin face, glistening with silvery tears, seemed unworldly, belonging not to a human being, but to a mischievous, yet benign woodland spirit who set out to do his gentle spriting among the trees, and finds himself mourning the death of his dryad friend. His eyelids grew heavy, then leaden, and he closed them, falling asleep with the back of his head against the oak and the raven's watchful eye resting on him with unmistakable devotion.

He slept deeply and without any dream, good or ill, for the best part of two hours, filling his lungs with the fresh, resinous forest air. When he opened his eyes again and took in the manifold greens of the forest, he felt refreshed and at ease, more than he had been for weeks, and strangely light – lightheaded, even. His stomach rumbled just as he remembered that once again, he hadn't eaten since dawn. He looked down at the ground beside his feet and saw the raven, who apparently had managed to open the leather-tied parcel with his sharp beak, and consumed the best part of the cooked meat Gaius had provided, but there still was some cheese, an apple, a couple of honey cakes and several sweet carrots. Merlin laughed.

"So you were hungry after all! I'm glad. It means you do have some...substance. Less – ghostlike. That's good."

Suddenly he felt ravenous. He ate the blob of cheese, the apple, and a honey cake, offering a piece of it to the raven. "Here, have some. I know he – you – you...like them. And they belong to the very few things Gaius actually got the hang of making. But I can't tell him, or he'll know what I really think about his cooking. And I won't have that." He smiled, and the raven cocked his head and made his rasping sound again, only this time Merlin would have sworn a holy oath that it did sound like a chuckle. "I hope won't ever tell him. He'd make me do something nasty. He can be quite as bad as –"

He broke off, but the raven finished the sentence with a load croak, and Merlin knew exactly what he meant to say.

"Yes, that's right. He can be almost as bad as you," he wiped his fingers on his trousers before circling his upright knees with his arms, " – Arthur."

The raven stood motionless, glaring at him.

"Look – I don't know how much of him is in you – whatever kind of magic has been employed to...create you, or transform your soul, it's not any magic I know. But there is something. You seem to be, undeniably, a real bird, but I can...sense...or see...somehow, I do see something of Arthur in you. And though I wish you were really here, as the prat I know," – he smiled apologetically – "it's good not to be alone." He exhaled loudly; acknowledging this had lifted the last stone of guilt off his heart.

Unfolding his powerful wings, the raven beat them, carefully, a few times, before he waddled up to Merlin and laid his head upon his linen-clad calf of the warlock's left leg, looking up to him with his small dark brown eyes. Merlin reached out to stroke the soft black plumage, and gave one his brief, somewhat throaty laughs.

"Not so much Arthur in you then, it seems," he told him in a gentle, cooing voice he'd never have dared use with his master in his human form, but to his raven self, it seemed completely appropriate. The raven seemed to agree, judging from the low, purring sound that escaped his gullet, but then without warning, something seemed to spook him; his head went here and there in nervous observation, and in a flash he had taken wing and was as high as the treetops, calling out in load croaks. Merlin sat frozen. In his head, finally, he heard the familiar summons.

_Emrys... Emrys..._

He leapt to his feet. It had but been a whisper, but it had felt near. Before he could even scan the nearby trees, they were there, suddenly and solemnly, about two dozen figures clad in long garments of earthy colours, their faces shadowed by wide hoods. They were approaching in a loose, wedge-shaped line like a flock of wild geese. Their leader, a tall man with a kind, craggy face, lifted a hand in greeting. He lowered the hood of his coarse moss green robe, revealing a shock of jaw-length, silver-grey hair, and Merlin recognized him him even before he spoke: the druid chieftain to whom Arthur had taken the boy Mordred so long ago, after Merlin had saved him with Morgana's help; the same one who had been guarding the Cup of Life, healing a deadly wounded Leon – a deed of kindness King Uther had repaid by sending his son to steal the Cup. This druid, and his clan, had also warned Merlin of the danger in the Tomb of Ashkanar, and it gladdened his heart that it was him, although they had met only briefly before; the moment he saw him, he felt it would have been impossible to make his request to a total stranger.

The tall, silver-haired man looked to his companions, signalling they should halt with a small and calmly done gesture of his hand, showing the very full sleeves of his robe. They formed a perfect crescent around their leader, who faced Merlin, bowed his head briefly, and smiled.

"So we meet again, Emrys. As it should be," he said in a low voice that was, however, sharp and clear as steel.

Merlin glanced upwards to the raven, who was now perched on a branch high up in the oak, and to the grey-haired druid again, who had followed his glance. "You know why I was looking for you then?"

The man nodded, continuing with short, even sentences. "The legends concerning you are not clear. Yet we knew we would meet you here. We know what you seek."

His heart skipped a beat, and he stepped closer to the druid. He made no attempt to make his voice steady or to hide the hunger in it when he asked, "And will you help me?"

The druid inclined his head ever so slightly in the affirmative. "Your friend, the physician, remembered the enchantment of Ceridwen."

Merlin's irises widened, ablaze with a bright turquoise sheen. "Is that what's it called? But – how did you know –"

"We are not spies. The druids have knowledge of some things," the chieftain cut him off, calmly, "just like you, Emrys, have knowledge of certain ones."

"Yes! I didn't want to imply –" Merlin began, but the chieftain laid a hand on his shoulder, briefly, still smiling at him, though gravely now. "There is little time. You truly wish to perform the enchantment?" he asked, with a casual half-glance at the higher oak-branches that made Merlin's skin crawl. He didn't doubt the druid's intentions, and rather liked the calm focus and simple friendliness of this clearly less than simple man, but there was something about these people, something uncanny. He knew they were peaceful by nature and on principle, healers and bards, using their magic as a force for good, abhorring violence, and yet he sensed that anyone who harmed them did so at his own peril. He held out his arm for the raven, who complied, winging off his branch to sail down to him, settling on his shoulder again.

"I do!" Merlin called out just as the raven sounded a loud squawk, their voices joined in a battle-cry.

"Then it shall be revealed to you," the druid answered with a respectful nod at the raven.

Merlin beamed at him. "Thank you. Thank you! You know...I don't even know your name...?"

"I am Iseldir. These," – he made a gesture with his arm towards the other druids standing silently behind him – "are trusted members of my clan."

Merlin nodded in their direction distractedly before bowing, in his shy, clumsy fashion , to the chieftain. "Thank you, then, Iseldir. I will be forever in your debt, no matter how this will turn out."

Iseldir shook his head. "It is the druids who have a debt to clear."

"What – what do you mean?"

"Our hopes rested on Arthur Pendragon's destiny to embrace magic in his united kingdom of Albion. Chances are that now this will never come to pass. Mordred brought shame upon his own people. His dishonour is ours to redeem." He spoke regretfully, but without a trace of hatred, and Merlin could read in his eyes the fatherly love he had felt for the boy. He remembered the day Uther had had Mordred's father killed, for no other crime than possessing magic, while his son, ill and lonely, hidden away and tended by strangers, was forced, through his gift, to witness his parents death just as if he had been standing beside him when the axe fell. For the first time, Merlin wondered about Mordred's parents, what kind of people they had been, and if his mother had already been dead when he came to Camelot with his father. It couldn't have been easy. He thought of his own father, whom he had known so very briefly, and his heart filled with compassion for Iseldir.

Either by telepathy, or by reading the emotions that flickered so clearly over Merlin's face, Iseldir guessed what he was thinking. Perhaps courtesy of the long and careful training the druidic priests had to undergo, his features remained composed and his voice steady when he said, "Mordred was no kin of mine. He was my pupil. After his parents' death he became a son of the clan, as is our custom. Many helped raise him, but I cared for him in his father's stead. As I did for another." He turned around, looking at a tall, slender woman, past her prime, like Iseldir, but still very beautiful, with keen blue eyes and features like chiselled marble, who was standing to one side of the line, almost hidden in he shadow of a chestnut tree. She didn't wear a hood, but her thick long mane of silvery-black hair served the same purpose. On some unspoken cue from Iseldir, the woman gave a slight nod and reached behind her back with one arm, and to her side stepped a small figure, clad in a cloak as deeply green as leaves of holly. The woman put her arm round the child's shoulders and gently lowered the green hood, revealing the pale face of a young boy with a mop of brown hair so dark that it was hard to tell it from black. Its long fringe hung almost to his eyes, which were large, and easily his most noticeable feature: pale blue irises with a rim of grey, surrounded by too much of white, giving him an intense, slightly threatening look. He gazed serenely at the warlock, unsmiling, but also without fear, without any emotion, in fact, his face a perfect blank.

Merlin froze.

He felt a drop of sweat trickle slowly down his back beneath the loose fabric of his tunic, and shivered._ How can this be possible? He's dead!_

He stood watching, just as the boy stood, and all of his escort; still, silent, waiting for him to speak. The raven on his shoulder shifted his weight. Merlin went on staring at the boy, and his racing heart slowed down again. This wasn't the boy he had known, grown to a man and forever sleeping now under his cairn among hills of green. This was another boy, a scared druid child whose fear Merlin could now feel below the carefully brave mask the youngster wore on his face.

Merlin shot the chieftain a questioning look, and Iseldir held out his hand for the boy, who glanced at the woman. She nodded, and let go of him. Silently, he went to Iseldir's side, who let him stand in front of him so that he faced Merlin, and placed both his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Emrys, this is Gaheris. He is willing to give you the help you seek."

The warlock's mouth opened and closed again in confusion as he took Iseldir's solemn expression, and the boy's earnest eyes. He crossed his arms in front of him to hide his disbelief. "But –"

A clear, high voice in his head silenced him. _Why do you not want my help, Emrys?_

Although he had communicated in this way before, it came as a bit of a shock to find his mind resounding with a voice that wasn't his own. He could talk this way without the least effort, but that didn't mean he cared much to do so. Still, he didn't want to frighten the boy, who seemed to prefer this way of speaking, so he responded likewise._ It's not that I don't want you to help me. Only I'm not sure that you are really the one who can._

Now Iseldir spoke again. "Gaheris is the key for what you hope to achieve."

"But he's just a boy! How can he possibly help me? And why him? Who is he?" Merlin gave back, too impatient to care if he hurt the boy's feelings. "Does he know the spell?"

"He does not," Iseldir answered placidly. "And neither do I. But he can show you how to find it in yourself."

"In myself? But I didn't even know of it until Gaius told me last night!"

Iseldir observed him with a look that showed indulgence as well as reverence, the way a teacher might look when a pupil he knows to be very gifted has just said something stupid. "The enchantment of Ceridwen cannot be not wrought by saying a simple spell learned by rote. It is different every time it is used. The kind of magic than can summon someone's very life spirit back into its body can only grow out of a deep connection to whoever the spirit belongs. A living soul has to be called by its kindred spirit, by someone who shares all its memories and hopes, whose life is woven of the same fabric. You might say it's the call of love that will succeed, not magic alone. Love will call out to spirit so he comes, and magic will bind it to its body again."

Merlin frowned. He stroked the raven's head absently as he asked, with hesitation, "So someone who loves Arthur has to call him, and once his soul is there, I must connect it to his body again by magic? And the boy... and Gaheris can show how this magic has to be performed?"

"Not quite," Iseldir responded with a small shake of his head, making his silver locks dance. "You don't understand. Binding the soul is the easiest part, you will know many spells that serve. The summons is what you have to learn from us. The one who is the kindred spirit to the wandering soul must call out for his or her kin, and by Ceridwen's magic it will be transformed into something the spirit can respond to. The magic stems either from the caller, or if he or she doesn't possess the gift, someone who does steps in."

Merlin had listened intently, nodding. "I think I know who this kindred spirit of Arthur's is. And the spell – the summons? Why the boy? What is it with him?"

For the first time, Merlin thought he saw a flash of apprehension in the druid chieftain's eyes, yet the man spoke as evenly as before.

"This task falls to him."

"Why?" Merlin demanded, and the raven hissed loudly.

Iseldir sighed. "Because the debt was incurred by his brother."

The raven hissed again, and hissed, and hissed, louder and louder. Merlin stared at the boy, and the boy stared back at him with a blank face, saying nothing.

"You are...Mordred's – brother? I – I didn't even know that he had one."

The chieftain pressed Gaheris' shoulder in what was obviously meant as a calming gesture, but Merlin saw that the boy winced in his guardian's grip. "Their mother died a week into her lying-in, after giving birth to Gaheris. She didn't bleed enough; there was blockage, and then inflammation. On the day their father was caught within the walls of Camelot, he had been there to purchase a certain tincture for her from the apothecary, made from a foreign plant. When he did not return, I tried my best to help her, but there are some things, alas, that magic cannot cure. So, within a week of each other, the brothers had lost both their parents, and I felt it my holy duty to care for them with my wife, Nia." He turned to smile gravely at the queenly woman, who looked back a him serenely. Allowing himself to show his sadness openly now, he held Merlin's eyes with his when he said, "Mordred's destiny had been long known to the druids, just like yours, Emrys. When his parents' deaths placed him into my immediate care, I thought I could avert his part in your and Arthur's story. But I failed, as maybe it was also destined, but if do, then we do not know." He lowered his voice, and spoke with nothing more than a whisper, although the quiet forest and his sharp, ringing enunciation carried his words more distinctly than any cry could have done. "Merlin Emrys, if you want to deliver your king from the evil fate that has befallen him, then let Gaheris deliver my people from our guilt. It is the only way to restore the balance between the new order and the old. Without redemption, Camelot cannot shine again as she was destined to shine. I beg you, Emrys." _Trust the boy. Trust me. Trust our people, for we put our trust in you, but most of all, trust yourself._

The last words hadn't been spoken aloud, as if Iseldir knew of Merlin's shame at his own lack of trust. He turned his head almost imperceptibly to his left shoulder. _What do you think?_ he thought, unaware at first that he had spoken the question with his mind's voice, when he felt a...presence inside his head, not human, but at the same time very much human, and a pressure building up in his mind, just like a stutterer pressing his lips together before hurling out a word as fast and hard as possible in the hope to outwit his stutter. It culminated in a word that was not spoken, but seemed to hover around in his mind in a bold, familiar handwriting: _TRUST._

He looked at the pale, dark-haired boy. _Show me then, Gaheris, brother of Mordred,_ he thought, _what do I have to do?_

Gaheris looked up to his guardian for permission, which was granted by a nod. He stepped up beside Merlin, smiling shyly at the raven, holding out his arm for him. The raven cocked his head for a moment, then hopped onto the boy's outstretched arm before taking wing an settling on one of the oak's lower branches, eyeing the scene below him with utmost attention. Gaheris smiled again, and with an easiness as if they had known each other for years, he took Merlin's right hand in his left. The young warlock shuddered at the touch; it was a small hand, with a firm, trusting grip, so innocent, yet the young face, so like Mordred's, gazed at him with a wisdom far beyond his age. He led him a few steps further, until they were standing under the great oaks most protruding branch. As if on a silent signal, the line of druids became fluid and changed into a circle around the two figures, the tall one and the small. _Sit down, Emrys. You must sit on the ground an feel the earth beneath you so you can ground the King's soul to it again. _

Merlin complied. Very briefly he wondered if Gaheris really was as young as he seemed, his voice carried so much authority, but then maybe that was what being a druid chieftain's adoptive son did to you? _Now close your eyes. Close your eyes. Good. _Gaheris, too, closed his eyes. _Feel the earth beneath you. Hear the sounds that surround you. Look into yourself and fade into the earth. Feel the connection between her and you. You are one. You are the earth, and the earth is you, Emrys. You are one with her. You are one with every living thing on earth, because every being is born from her womb. Every soul is connected to every other soul. Feel the bond...feel the bond, Emrys...you are one..._

Merlin sat with his eyes closed, listening to the birds' chirping, and the faint rustle of the leaves in a gentle breeze, but try as he might, he didn't feel a bond, or experience a feeling of oneness, however that was supposed to feel. Memories kept swirling through his head, memories of Arthur, and of all the other loved ones he had lost. He pressed his eyes shut tighter, willing himself to feel what the boy wanted him to feel, when he heard Iseldir's voice inside his head.

_You are trying too hard, Emrys. _

_Well, what do you expect?_ he gave back angrily._ Of course I am! This is about my friend! He's gonna die for good if I fail him again!_

_If you travel down that road, failure is certain. _

_Merlin,_ a third voice said, a woman's this time. Merlin opened his eyes and saw the chieftain's wife, Nia, looking at him with a serene, but kindly, smile. _I know your heart is bleeding for the one you love. There is no love without pain. Embrace it, for it is but another of love's many faces. The pain will be with you, always, wether you save him or not._

_But...it hurts so much...I don't want it to hurt anymore..._

_I know. It will not go away. To live means to lose, and live on. Your love, and your pain, have made you the man you are, and they are going to make you the man you will be, if you let them. Anything else would be standstill; anything else would be death, truly. Living means living with the pain, or not at all._

Iseldir joined in. _You already possess all the magic you need. You already carry the words of the summons in you. All you have to do now is trust yourself. Trust in your love. You are one with every living soul, if only you believe in yourself, and in the truth of your friendship with the one you wish to call._

Merlin shook his head. It couldn't be that easy. He knew it wasn't easy. Not for him. He wasn't even wholly sure if Arthur had really seen him as a friend, or more like a puppy he had taken an inexplicable liking to, a liking that prevented him from kicking him across the floor now and then, and it hurt not to know, oh, how much it hurt!

Nia's voice floated around in his mind again, feathery and light but carrying a heavy weight. _Even now, you don't trust yourself. Even now, you don't trust him. You are such a fighter, Merlin. You have been fighting so hard, all the time, right behind him, that you have forgotten how not to fight. You have forgotten how it is just to be, to be who you truly are. Right to the end you fought, and achieved nothing. Be who you are, and you can be the friend he longs for. Be who you are, and he will truly be your friend. Stop fighting now. Let go of everything but your essence, your love, and start to trust in your destiny._

Merlin's heart sank. He couldn't help thinking that if his destiny insisted on setting him impossibly difficult tasks where success depended almost entirely on his self-confidence on his ability to trust, it should have provided him with more of that capacity to begin with.

Something of his train of thought must have been showing in his face, for Iseldir's eyes creased into a benign smile, and he nodded his grey head earnestly, speaking aloud for emphasis. "Do not be afraid, Emrys. The power is slumbering inside your veins. We do not know if your quest will succeed, but this I can tell you: when the time comes to set this power free, it will not be an effort for you; it will flow from you as freely as the quick shower of spring flows down from the sky. I cannot see what that power will work – it's in the hands of the gods – but you are destined to use it just as Arthur is destined to make this land a precious jewel, shining with the new and old ways alike. We believe in that. You do not stand alone. Our hopes rest in you both. Now, close your eyes."

Again, he obeyed; again, he heard Gaheris' sweet young voice speaking with authority.

_Breathe, Emrys. Breathe deeply. You can smell the earth. You smell her grounded power. You can smell the trees. You smell the heady power of their leaves. You can hear the squirrels hopping around in the branches. You hear the swishing of their tails. You can feel the breath of the earth on your face. You are one with everything that walks on the earth, and flies above it. You are one with the earth...You are the earth..._

This time, as he listened, his consciousness faded away, his body was forgotten. He was now the airy spirit he had resembled earlier, when he had slept beneath the oak tree. He was swirling high above the ground, cartwheeling over fluffy clouds in skies so high he had never thought could exist, drifting over the surface of the earth, glimpsing stars, stars everywhere, suns and thousands of suns shining over worlds unknown, and he himself only a tiny dot whirling through it all. He floated through time, backwards and forwards at the same time, and strange visions assaulted his every sense. He saw himself in the Crystal Cave, sleeping his sorrow away. He saw Taliesin, the seer, on the same spot, sleeping, dreaming, changing until his face was that of Balinor, his father, who smiled at him and drew him in, in, in, into his eyes. Inside those glassy orbs Merlin saw images, floating, streaming through him, washing over him, cleansing him. The heady feeling of having found a new, powerful magic flooded his veins. Images from his past flickered across his mind's eye, and images from the past that was before he existed..._a lithe young girl sitting on a wooden fence, her legs dangling merrily beneath her wide green skirt, her kind, pretty face framed by a halo of brown curls, smiling at a handsome man with fiery eyes and long black hair...the angry ranting of a king still young, resplendent in a long red coat embroidered with a golden dragon, a face so like Arthur's but hard, so hard...his mother's screaming, half-remembered...mingled with laughter now as she smiles down upon a newborn's downy black head, and a gasp when the baby's blue eyes turn to liquid gold and the dim tallow candle on the windowsill begins to glow brighter and brighter until it illuminates the poor little room with the splendour of a hundred candles._

His breathing accelerated, making the vision swim before his eyes. When he had calmed again, the druid boy's voice told him to leave the confinement of his own mind, and he felt his perception broaden. In a single blink of his eyes he recognized the presence of every single being in part of the forest where he was sitting, from the druids, whose souls where shining beacons, to the least of tiny insects under the bark of the smallest tree. _I am one with the earth...I am one with the earth..._His mind broadened further, and he allowed himself to travel, with the speed of a sunray, down he road he had come here to Camelot. Through the mighty walls his vision went, to the great hall. This time, he didn't need Gaheris to admonish him as his breaths came faster, jerkingly. He willed his body to become calm again, forced his lungs to take the air in and out slowly, steadily. _On the left of the two thrones sits a tall, shapely woman with light-brown skin and long, curly hair. She keeps herself very erect, as if forcing herself to support the heavy crown on her head with the last of her strength, and her eyes are empty, but her expression shows determination to go through with this at any cost. She appears subdued, controlled, as she nods to the curly-haired knight, yet her mind is screaming, silently, at the top of its voice: ARTHUR! ARTHUR! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? COME BACK TO ME! THIS ISN'T WHAT I WANTED! ARTHUR! _Merlin saw Leon's lips move, giving the traditional hail, answered in one voice by the assembled knights and nobility, but all he could hear were the thoughts of his friends, sounding above the clamour, who were thinking only of him, and of his mission, of his safety: Gaius, steadfastly believing in him, but still worried sick; Leon, wishing he had forsaken duty just this one time; Percival, one teeth-grinding mass of barely reined-in energy. Energy, too, was Merlin, as he, or his consciousness, his essence, whatever it was, hovered high above the scene. He wished he could send them a message, tell them he was safe and would be back soon with the spell firmly in his heart, but he didn't want to cause a commotion by startling them. So he just floated out through the walls, back again to his body in the middle of the Darkling Woods, blocking himself against the onslaught of living souls to hear while trying to take not of the state his mind was in, so he could enter it again at will. He heard Gaheris again, calling out for him, guiding him back. _Emrys...Emrys...come back...you're back._

He opened his eyes. He was himself again, alone within his own mind and consciousness, a gangly young man prone to stumbling over his own feet. The power had ebbed. The raven was perched on his shoulder again, comfortingly near, and he patted him gratefully. His head hurt, and so did his bottom, but he knew he could summon the power of Ceridwen now, and felt as light as a cloud,. In wonder and amazement, he stared at Gaheris, who was sitting opposite him, staring back with the frightened eyes of a ten-year-old boy who doesn't understand the great things he has been a part of.

Merlin got to his feet, then held out his hand to the boy. Gaheris took it, letting himself be pulled up by the warlock. "Are you alright?" Merlin asked him.

Gaheris looked at him neutrally, uncannily, almost, so like Mordred as a boy that Merlin frowned and reminded himself that this really wasn't the boy he had known.

"I'm fine," he said.

The druids were still standing in a circle around Merlin and Gaheris, but Iseldir now stepped out of it, laying a hand on top of the boy's head, and addressed Merlin. "Do you know the words now, Emrys? Have you found what you sought?"

Merlin smiled. "I have. I know the words now. How can I ever thank you?"

The chieftain smiled back. "By succeeding in your task. By serving us, and serving your friend, the king. And remember – the one to call him must be his true kindred spirit, or the summons will go unheard."

"I was born to serve Arthur," Merlin gave back formally, although he wasn't quite sure what exactly the druid meant, and thinking of Kilgharrah's predilection for speaking in riddles, he chuckled, and guessed that he would, eventually, find out. "And it will be heard. His kindred spirit can only be one person. I'll bring her. I don't know how I'll get her to come, but I'll think of something."

"Then our ways part here. Farewell, Emrys. We will meet again." He looked down on the boy, expecting him to say his goodbyes too, and Gaheris bowed slightly in the way the druids have. "Goodbye, Emrys." Merlin looked at him sideways, then grabbed the boy's arm and shook it. "Goodbye, Gaheris. It was a pleasure to meet you. You are a great warlock."

The druid chieftain answered with his mind's voice, calmly, but with a hint of pride, _He does not know what he just did. He was only the channel. This is ancient druid wisdom, as old as the land itself. It belongs only to the initiated. Yet maybe one day, he will be a warlock indeed._

With that, he inclined his head to his companions, who turned to go as one. The raven on Merlin's shoulder croaked at an ear-splitting volume. Iseldir's wife, Nia, gave Merlin a smile before she, too, turned from him, and then at last Iseldir with Gaheris' hand in his.

After two or three steps, however, the boy turned around lingeringly, and for the first time spoke with his real voice, which was just as sweet and pleasant as that of his mind. "May I ask you something, Emrys? Why did Aunt Nia call you _Merlin_?"

Merlin laughed. "It's my name! The one my mother gave me."

Gaheris took a step towards him. "You like it better than the other one?"

"It was a good thing to have another name," Merlin said earnestly, looking into the boy's blue eyes. "It protected me from a deadly enemy. But Merlin is the name my friends know me by."

Gaheris nodded. "Then I will call you Merlin too, if I may."

"Of course! It would - be an honour."

Iseldir, who had turned around with the boy and heard their exchange, now positively beamed at the young man. "Don't forget what happened today! You are now one of us, Merlin Emrys. You have always heard the voice of the earth, calling to you in your dreams, but now you have followed her call, and you are of the druids. You understand the voices of the earth now. Use that knowledge wisely." He nodded for a final time as Gaheris reached under the neckline of his robe, producing a kind of pendant that was fastened around his neck. He fiddled with thin cord of leather on which the pendant was strung, opening it, and held out the necklace for Merlin. "Here – this is for you...Merlin." The warlock, touched by the gesture, took it from him; the pendant was a finely worked piece of jewellery, a druidic Triskelion symbol wrought in sturdy red copper. Merlin regarded the symbol for some moments before looking up in confusion. "I am...of the druids? What –"

He stopped. Iseldir wasn't standing in front of him anymore, nor was Gaheris. He leapt to his feet and looked around, sending the raven flying from his shoulder amidst chattering of protest, but there was nobody there. The druids were gone.


End file.
